The Heart of the Lion
by The Hummingbird's Song
Summary: Everyone knows what James Potter and his friends get up to. They've been kings for four years, bullies that everybody seemed to adore anyway. But this year, OWL year, Charlotte isn't about to let them ruin her exams. Nothing James Potter does will get to her this year. Next Gen.
1. The Keeper's Qualms

I don't own Harry Potter, just taking the characters for a spin! This is Next Generation, in case I forget (or fail) to make that really really clear, which is great, since there was only a little to go. That's all I've got, happy reading!

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**The Keeper's Qualms**

"Charlie, please," Anna begged, but Charlie just shook her head resolutely. There was no way she was going for the Quidditch time, not in this lifetime. She didn't care how much she loved it - she wouldn't do that to herself.

She had learned to play Quidditch from a young age, with her sisters and her brother, and she had grown up loving the game. It had nothing to do with the game that was keeping her away from the school's pitch.

She tried to keep under the radar as much as she could. Sometimes that was harder than it seemed, for all the wrong reasons, and she couldn't always manage it. But joining the ruddy _Quidditch _team was hardly going to help.

"No, Anna," Charlie told her. "Just drop it."

"But why?" she shrieked, making Charlie wince. "You're such a talented player. You're a brilliant Keeper."

Charlie glanced up at her over her gleaming, golden platter as she waited for the desserts to materialize, and tried to refrain from rolling her eyes. "You know why," she told her friend in a small voice. Anna hadn't been there, but Charlie had just heard from one of their roommates who had been named Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and though she hadn't explained this to Anna, she was, under no circumstances, planning on subjecting herself to the cruel taunts and insults twice a week of her own will. She got enough of that already, and she wasn't the only one.

And what was bothering her is that Anna knew as well as she did, and she didn't have to explain. But she was glaring as if she didn't have a clue, and simply thought Charlie was being stubborn. "What are you?" she pouted. "Scared?"

"No," Charlie replied hotly, but Anna was smirking at her.

"Yes you are," she said. "Don't you think this is above fear?" she implored, in her most over the top, dramatic voice. "This is a chance for you to show him up; maybe he'll stop making fun of you when he sees how good you are."

"Not likely," Charlie muttered glumly. "Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots."

And what good would it be - they could stop making fun of _her, _but there were hundreds of students in the school, and a drop in the ocean wasn't going to make any difference.

Of course, it was so easy for Anna to say - she was probably one of the few people in the school that wasn't desperately trying to keep out of their way. They were popular and funny, she supposed, when they wanted to be. But they had a mean streak that they let show, for most people who they thought were below them. Not for Anna. Anna wouldn't handle it, and they weren't bothered trying to deal with her.

Charlie jumped when two of the ghosts, Nearly-Headless Nick and the Scarred Lady (she was not more than eighteen when she died, and they were still trying to work out what her name was) leaned right _into _her to interject.

"If I may say so," said Sir Nick, quite pompously, his head wobbling precariously on his neck. "Ms. Goldstein makes the fine point that courage, as we know, is not the absence of fear."

"But rather the knowledge that something is more important," said the Scarred Lady meaningfully.

"Quite correct!" Sir Nick said cheerfully. "And isn't that what being in Gryffindor is all about?"

Anna beamed.

Charlie sighed - she opened her mouth to reply, but then the desserts appeared, and Anna engrossed herself so thoroughly in the nearest pudding that Charlie doubted she would have heard her anyway.

Anna Goldstein was afraid of nothing. Charlotte Alexander was not so lucky. She was afraid of him and his friends, definitely. They were always so mean to her, all the time, since about three weeks into their first year here. She couldn't count the number of times she had cried up in her dorm, on occasions where she was sure she was alone.

And it wasn't like she was the only one. She didn't know how they chose who they would be rude to, but it seemed like she had been part of a draw. She'd never done anything, per se. She had just been there.

She remembered in first year in Herbology, back when James Potter's head could still fit through a normally-sized door. He used to be quite cheerful during class when they were at the same worktable, making jokes and keeping everyone entertained. But something had just changed, and Charlie supposed that she or her friends weren't cool enough for him to treat them like that.

And sure, they'd been eleven, but occasionally - when he was throwing something nasty her way, or anybody else's way for that matter - Charlie would see and remember how he used to be normal, before he was popular, and she'd sigh and think _he used to be such a nice boy._

What happened?

The shiny new prefect's badge on her chest had done nothing for Charlie's confidence. In fact, Charlie was _certain _they would find a way to tease her over that, and she didn't have the guts to try and take points away from them - even though she wouldn't, not from her own house - or give them detention. They'd just laugh at her anyway.

It was embarrassing really. She had _never _been an overly confident girl like Anna was, and that was regardless of how anybody treated her. But for a badge to actually diminish her confidence instead of helping it . . . And her mum had been so proud, even with everything that was going on she had still found time to be happy for Charlie.

But since she had gotten that badge, her stomach had convulsed and twisted, and she felt the urge to vomit constantly. She didn't _want _to be prefect, and she tossed and turned the summer nights away, until her fifth year was looming over her in a sinister way.

And it was such an important year, and her mother was so excited for her to be doing so well. But Charlie didn't think that this year was going to go very well. That would mean that things had to change - and she had learned long ago that things never changed, _people _didn't simply change.

If she had been more brazen, she would have marched right up to Professor Longbottom, Head of Gryffindor House, and slammed the badge down on his desk and demanded to know what he had even been thinking. But she didn't. She quietly accepted the badge, because the badge meant responsibility and it was a great honour, and she wasn't about to be so disrespectful. Whether she wanted or not, she would take it. _Like it or lump it._

So far she had been doing a pretty good job of keeping things quiet - slipping to the prefects' meeting on the train, yanking the badge off once it was over - but she hardly considered that an achievement, as they'd been here a grand total of about three hours. But more than anything, she was dreading the moment that Potter and his friends noticed her badge - which she was now being forced to wear - or were told, or heard about it somewhere. That could only go badly, she knew.

And if that wasn't evidence enough that she didn't deserve the badge, she didn't know what was.

Her point was proved when Potter himself stopped as he passed, and then waved at the Scarred Lady like he could blow her away with a gust of wind. "Nice badge, Alexander," he smirked. Charlie blinked.

"I didn't really think so," she muttered sullenly, before she realized she'd spoken at all.

He snorted. "Suits you," he remarked. "But what are you gonna do when you're actually supposed to - you know - lead?" he asked, making a good show of looking like he was genuinely confused.

Charlie sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "I have no idea," she muttered, with a tiny petrified whimper. She knew that he was only having her on, but it hit home, and she couldn't help but take it seriously within her own head.

"Good luck with that then," he said cheerfully. He raised his eyebrows at her, but she looked down at her empty plate and gulped, so he shrugged and passed.

Anna glared after him and then lunged forward to grab another pudding, and for a fleeting second Charlie hoped that Anna had grown bored with the topic - as she often did - and had dropped the subject. But she should have known better, really.

"Besides," Anna said, swallowing an enormous bite of pudding. "It's in your blood, isn't it? Your mum played."

Sighing, Charlie nodded. That didn't mean anything - her mother had played on the Gryffindor team when she was in school, with what Charlie had heard was the best team Gryffindor ever had. But that didn't mean that she had to.

She'd never said to her mother that she would have played Quidditch - things with her father were messy at the moment, and Charlie didn't want to bother her with such inane and trivial things. But she couldn't hide the badge from her mother - or anyone else for that matter - no matter how hard she tried.

Besides, _he_ was captain. He would never let her play. In fact, he wouldn't believe that she played. And Charlie desperately wished that she could claim that he didn't deserve the captaincy. She had seen him play - he'd been playing Chaser on the school team for years, though everybody knew it was the Seeker's position he wanted.

She had never missed a single match, and he was undeniably a great player. In fact, Charlie really should have guessed that he'd get captain - he never looked more at home than when he was on his broom. Now _there _was someone who really had it in their blood.

And her mother could go on and on about her Gryffindor blood - her mother Katie had lived in a different era as far as Charlie was concerned, and she would never live up to that glory.

Anna went on for a little longer while Charlie played with her dessert. She didn't even bother to try and stop Anna - she just let her harp on and on, and though she tried not to listen, she heard every word. Luckily, Anna seemed to sense that Charlie didn't want to talk about her mother, so she didn't try to bring her up again.

"I mean, you shouldn't let them get to you - if you just act like you're not impressed - you have to know how to handle them - but really, they're just immature boys - and you shouldn't take everything so seriously - they don't even know what they're saying -"

Once they were all stuffed to bursting point, Charlie jumped to her feet lightly, glad for a ready made excuse to get away from Anna in the middle of her rant, and called for the first years to follow her, as she glanced around for the other prefect of her year. Andrew Wood was someone who Charlie had always gotten on well with. He was on the Quidditch Team - his father played professionally with Puddlemere United - but he had always been nice to Charlie. He was an excellent Chaser.

She hadn't really known him until fourth year - Charlie, much to her chagrin, couldn't help but smile when she remembered the day she'd first met him in the library, in the small but comfortable Quidditch section. They had argued over the same book until Madam Pince, bent over and slow with her old age, had kicked them out, brandishing her wand threateningly.

He wasn't terribly exciting, Andrew. But he was nice - a bit polite, which sometimes Charlie found disconcerting, and occasionally slightly holier-than-thou - and he was always considerate.

In their fourth year Charlie and Andrew had gotten a lot closer, since Charlie never minded to have someone who was equally soft-spoken, who was never passionately angry or happy or upset or whatever else like Anna was. He was passive, which was soothing, and it felt nice to have someone like that around occasionally.

Of course, Anna didn't really like him. She thought he was dull, which Charlie occasionally agreed with, and she thought he had no personality. Charlie pretended she didn't hear Anna, ignored her scowl whenever she talked to him.

He wrote to her the day he got his badge to tell her, which had her astonished. But it was nice to be able to tell him who he'd be sharing his duties with.

"First years, this way!" Charlie called down the table, nodding towards her little sister, who had been sorted into Gryffindor only a couple of hours ago. Anna was smiling up at her; she swallowed and turned to her. "See you later," she said quickly. Anna waved and winked; down the table, James Potter and his friends cackled at Charlie, who felt her stomach lurch into her throat.

She blushed furiously, and turned away sharply. She caught sight of Andrew and ran to meet him, and together they led the first years to the common room. Something familiar was gnawing away at her stomach again, and Charlie willed it to stop tying itself into knots.

If she had thought this year was going to be any different - she had thought wrong.

"Alright, Charlie?" Andrew grinned. "Good summer?"

She nodded, grinning up at him. "Yeah, pretty quiet." She didn't go into any more detail. In fact, it had been one of the most bizarre summers of her life - and not in a good way. It had been so strange that she didn't even know where to start explaining all the events of it, so she hoped Andrew wouldn't ask.

"What, taking some time out from your hectic, wild life?" he joked, nudging her side.

She scowled playfully. "Not exactly," she replied coolly.

"I'm surprised you can keep it quiet, with Goldstein going off the wall every other day," he replied jovially.

She rolled her eyes and laughed, and then glanced over her shoulder. "Careful!" she called to the long line behind them. "This step is a trick step." Looking thoroughly astounded and somewhat fearful, the first years all hopped over the step, and Charlie grinned, proud of herself.

"Your sister is starting this year, isn't she?" Andrew asked her, skidding to a halt as the staircase jolted into movement. Sighing, he added, "Looks like we're taking the way by the tapestry of Ignatia Wildsmith."

Charlie nodded. "Yes, I guess we are. And yes, Katie is." Katie, named after their mother, was terrified. Charlie glanced over her shoulder again, just able to make her out by her starkly dark hair and pale skin; she was talking to a girl with a pretty smile and flaming red hair. Charlie was surprised she had ended up in Gryffindor - their middle sister, Lizzie had gone into Ravenclaw, and if truth be told, Charlie'd expected Katie to go the same way.

Andrew smiled grimly at her. "Kelly had the same thing last year. Absolutely terrified."

They arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait; she looked drowsy and irritable. "Fingleburn," Charlie said tiredly, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Andrew hid his smirk.

"Alright, well this is the common room," Charlie said loudly, talking over the hushed whispers of astonishment. "Girls, follow me."

"And boys, follow me," Andrew said, winking at them. He said a quick goodbye to Charlie, raising his eyebrows at her. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said, smiling. She gave a quiet laugh.

Anna had beat Charlie there, she said a cheery hello to the first-years as she ushered them past. Charlie rolled her eyes at her. Charlie showed the first-years their rooms, and told them what time they would need to be in the Great Hall on Monday morning at.

"If you need anything, or want to ask me anything," she told them soothingly, "I'll be right downstairs." Before she left, she wandered over to Katie. "You alright?" she asked her little sister, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded shakily, smiling timidly up at Charlie. "Oh," she said with a jolt of surprise. "This is Lily, Charlie. This is my sister, Charlie," she said to the red-headed girl at the next, who smiled up at Charlie.

"Hi," she beamed.

"How are you, Lily?" Charlie said kindly. "Is it what you expected?"

She nodded soberly. "My brothers go here, I knew what to expect," she said brightly. Something clicked in her head - maybe it was something in the way that Lily held herself, the expression on her face - and Charlie was about to ask her who her brothers were when there came a shriek from downstairs, and she hobbled down to see what the fuss was about.

One of the Stebbins sisters was shrieking uncontrollably, flapping her hands about. "Oh what is it, Marissa?" Charlie asked exasperatedly, once she reached her.

"Those pigs!" she cried hysterically. "They put a m - m - mimbulus mimble-t-t-onia on my chair!"

Charlie blinked at her. She was too tired to start a war, not tonight. Turning her back on Marissa, she collapsed into the chair that Anna had been saving for her as she tried not to burst into laughter at the sight of Marissa Stebbins. Her twin Eleanor was now at her side, brushing spikes off her back.

Anna cleared her throat and nodded her head in the direction of over Charlie's shoulder; turning around, Charlie could see who Marissa meant by pigs. And they were headed this way.

"Alright, Alexander?" Fred Weasley called, clamping his hand down on Charlie's shoulder when he'd reached her chair.

"Just fine, thanks," she mumbled, discreetly shrugging her shoulder away from him like she was afraid she would die from just being around him for too long. Anna was glaring at them, but Charlie was hoping she wouldn't say anything too outrageous and give them grounds to titter at her even more. She never knew why they decided they'd pick on her.

There was an awful month in fourth year when Anna had become convinced and consumed with the idea that Fred Weasley only picked on her so much because he was secretly in love with her, and all his friends were in on it. She dragged it up an awful lot, whenever he walked into the room really, and she ragged on about it so much that it started to eat away at Charlie. Eventually, Anna got so extreme at dinner one night, and Charlie got so anxious that she had to run to the bathroom to throw up.

Anna dropped it pretty rapidly after that.

"We heard something interesting at the sorting, didn't we?" said Michael Fawcett, who was eyeing Anna with interest.

"And what might that be?" Charlie said idly, through clenched teeth.

"A name," said Fred. "Do you have a sister in our house this year?"

"Katie," Anna blurted out. "She's upstairs." Charlie's only thought was that it was entirely unfathomable how they found that interesting of all things.

"She doesn't look like your sister," said Fred. "She looks too happy."

Whose fault was that, Charlie thought.

"Yeah," agreed Michael. "She looked like she wasn't scared of her own shadow, that's what got me."

"Well, maybe _she's _the Gryffindor of the family," Fred smirked. "What are you even doing here, Alexander?"

Charlie pursed her lips together.

"She was talking to _my _sister earlier," James Potter interjected, not bothering to look at Charlie, which was a relief. She was quickly calculating in her mind, putting two and two together, but Anna was already talking before she could say a word

"Interesting story, Potter," she said icily. "Write it down, it might be worth something one day." James raised his eyebrows, looking almost like he was alarmed or astonished, like he didn't understand why Anna had burst when all they were having was a pleasant conversation.

Fred rolled his eyes at Anna and then looked back at Charlie like she was lion's prey, and that he would be rewarded with an enormous sense of accomplishment once he got to her.

"That wasn't all we thought was interesting, was it, lads?" he said in a loud voice, holding her stare. And just for a second, Charlie's eyes flickered towards her badge. Michael Fawcett let out a heart, satisfied guffaw.

"She's got it, lads," he announced. "For a change."

"Who on _earth _gave you that badge, Alexander?" Fred smirked.

"Yeah, I wouldn't trust you with a flobberworm," interjected Michael.

"I mean, you're the _last _person I would have expected," Fred went on, nodding sagely.

"I agree," Michael said loudly. "I think we'll really have to question the sanity of whoever made that decision."

Fred snorted. "What were they thinking, _you_, trying to tell anybody else what to do?"

Anna was looking between the two of them, her mouth open and her face becoming redder and redder. But Charlie just stared into her lap, and let it happen. Potter said nothing; he was staring in the other direction like there was nothing in the world more boring than this conversation. That was odd enough, but she had only just barely consider that before Anna was tugging at her sleeve, pushing her out of her seat.

"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "She got a badge, are they crazy, et cetera - can we all move on now?" she spat.

And shoving Charlie in front of her, Anna stormed off, leaving the boys there with smirks on their faces.

XXX

Charlie was busy shovelling some porridge sloppily into her mouth as she read the Daily Prophet when Anna brought up Quidditch again the next morning. There was an exclusive interview with an Obliviator, who was very upset for one reason or another, and Charlie was just about to flick to that page and glance through it to see what had gotten Ministry workers so uptight, but Anna had other ideas. She snapped her fingers in front of Charlie's face impatiently.

"I really think you should try out," she insisted, pouring the pair of them another glass of orange juice. Wishing that she could have had at least one day of peace, Charlie didn't even dignify that with a reply, but she didn't have to. Andrew Wood swung into the seat next to her, glancing between the two of them.

"Try out for what, Quidditch?" he asked.

"No," said Anna sardonically. "For the drummer position in The Dragon Tails."

Charlie could see the distaste, the wary weariness in Anna's expression, but she didn't really think Andrew picked up on that. Even if he hadn't missed it, he pretended he did. He smiled at her. "Funny," he remarked.

Anna looked offended and repulsed by his ignorance of her sarcasm, and Charlie bit back her smile. Anna liked to play a game that involved being ruder and ruder, until the person had figured out that she didn't like them. And this game had been going on with Andrew Wood for as long as Charlie had known him. And of course, Anna had done it with everyone, for as long as Charlie had known _her. _

"Yes, for Quidditch!" Anna said exasperatedly as she focused her attention on glaring at Andrew. "She refuses." She threw Charlie a very dark glare at that, as if it was a personal offence to her family that Charlie had decided she wasn't going to do something she didn't want to.

"Why is that?" he asked, and he looked at Charlie with a quizzical, concerned expression, making Charlie flush. She mumbled about not getting on with the team players, but Andrew caught on quick. "Oh, you don't like that whole gang, do you?" he said, smiling sympathetically. Something about his face said _I don't really either._ "Well, you'd have me there to protect you."

"Just think about it," Anna pleaded. Before Charlie had a chance to reply, Professor Longbottom was at her shoulder, handing her her Timetable.

"Thanks, sir," she smiled up at him.

"I hope you'll keep up the good work this year, Alexander," he told her. Charlie couldn't help but beam - she had worked hard last year, and done exceptionally well for her. And she had been so proud; she hoped to do exactly the same thing this year, with the OWLs at the end of the year. And Charlie knew how important these exams were - they could decide her entire life for her. She nodded up at Professor Longbottom, who returned her nod and smiled genially. "You too, Goldstein."

"Don't I always, sir?" Anna said innocently. He shook his head at her, grinning bemusedly, and moved down the line. Charlie glanced down at their timetable, and her mouth fell open.

"Double History of Magic on a Monday morning!" she exclaimed, appalled. "You must be joking."

Anna was looking equally as mutinous. "Then Herbology . . . And then Transfiguration," she said, glaring down at her timetable like it was personally offending her. "I'm rubbish at Transfiguration."

Charlie wrinkled her nose.

"Oh, and then you've got Magical Creatures, right?" Anna said. "In between Transfiguration and Defence?"

Charlie grunted. Care of Magical Creatures was a small class - the Gryffindors were extremely few; there was Charlie and Hannah Kent, one of her roommates. There was also James Potter and Max Sorfellius, a boy who was dreadfully elusive. But she liked Max, since he didn't seem to worry about her and Hannah, or what talking to them would do to his reputation.

He even seemed like he was human, and he always chatted to Hannah and Charlie, before and during and after class. Potter always came with him but never said much, but at least he didn't seem resentful towards Max. In fact, Potter didn't even seem to mind, which was an abnormality to say the least. Maybe it was just that no one could really mind Max, he was too genuine a person. Still, he was a part of that group, which made her wary of him all the same, and any more time that she had to spend with them than necessary was simply an injustice.

"Look at all the doubles!" exclaimed Anna, looking horrified. She began another rant while Charlie quietly surveyed her timetable, and when he was finished with his own, Andrew cast a furtive glance at Anna, who was blabbering on full steam ahead, before he turned his eyes to Charlie.

"Really though," he said quietly. "About the team, Charlie -"

"Oh, Wood," came a loud, confident voice. "I don't much fancy your taste." Charlie closed her eyes, willing herself to shut out the voice of Fred Weasley. "At least Thomas and Brothwell were good-looking."

"If nothing else," added James amusedly, looking around him with casual disinterest.

"Move along, Weasley," said Andrew passively. The two of them - the little ringleaders - caught Charlie's eye for just a fraction of a second, and she swallowed when they glanced at her badge with disdain and amusement. With a haughty laugh, Fred and James sauntered along the table, and to Charlie's absolute horror, sat themselves down comfortably to Anna's right.

Anna was looking shrewdly between Andrew and Charlie, making a fine job of ignoring the group of boys, who were chatting rowdily. "Well, I'm trying out. And you're trying out with me." She looked at Charlie with a hardened expression.

"No, I'm not," Charlie said brightly.

"You are," she insisted.

"You play Quidditch?" James interjected rudely, leaning across Michael to look at Charlie in skeptical horror. She nodded sheepishly. "I'm Captain this year," he informed her. "Did you know?" She shrugged her shoulders, feeling her face go hot.

"Yes, of course she knew," snapped Anna, sniffing. "Because you made ruddy sure that everybody knew."

"Calm down, Goldstein," he told her coolly. "There's no need to take everything so personally."

"Potter, I mean it, leave us alone or the moment I get on that pitch, I'll shove a broomstick right up -"

"Anna, leave it!" Charlie said quickly, snatching her timetable from beside her unfinished bowl of porridge and leaping up. As she strode away, she wiped away a hot tear that had escaped onto her cheek. She had seen the look on Potter's face; and once again, Anna had come to her rescue, or so she thought. But that had just amused him more, whenever Anna swooped in to save the mess who couldn't save herself.

This year was important, and she wasn't going to let Potter or Anna or Fred Weasley or anybody get in the way. She had important exams at the end of the year, and something was going to have to be done. Because she couldn't forgive herself if she allowed them to mess up her exams. And after four years of this, she couldn't endure another. Something would have to change - and it wouldn't be them.

And if Anna thought she was trying out for that Quidditch team, she had another thing coming. What could she possibly say that would force Charlie into it? Sure, it was Quidditch, and she loved Quidditch. But Quidditch with _any _of that whole clan was something Charlie keenly hoped to avoid.

And there was nothing Anna could say to change that. At least, she hoped so.

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Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought for a first chapter!

**Note: **Edited (expanded) 15/2. Didn't take out any original text or change anything, but fixed the (abysmally large amount of) errors and embellished a bit.


	2. The Art of Self-Assurance

I don't own Harry Potter!

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**The Art of Self-Assurance**

It was a truism to say that, on occasion, James Potter's entertainment could plausibly be brought about at the expense of someone else's discomfort. Of course, James regarded this as something of natural order, more or less a birthright. It wasn't _his _fault that people had always looked to him to be a leader - and he would swallow Bobotuber pus before he shrunk away from something he could consider an obligation.

That being said, it wasn't often that he took a particular interest in somebody. There had been Charlotte Alexander - though it seemed that since around the end of fourth year, the driving motivation had begun to come from Fred's volition rather than his own. It had been hard for him to stay focused on her. He _did _like to torture her on occasion - but she never reacted in a satisfying way.

She'd try her best to ignore him, or mutter something, and James could always tell when she was about to start crying. But nothing . . . interesting. She was no spitfire, and because of that, she failed to capture James' attention, apart from in passing, when he and Fred had virtually nothing better to do.

Of course, everybody liked James and Fred. If you were friends with the two of them, your life at Hogwarts would be a breeze - so it was within their interests for most people to friends with them. And they were nice people when they wanted to be. They were perfectly friendly to most people.

James didn't believe that a summer could change someone, but he knew, in his deepest heart of hearts, that he didn't feel the same. He hesitated when Fred would launch into something, his laugh was contrived for Fred's benefit. Something was different. And he didn't know what.

In short, he was incredibly and immensely bored, seeking a more sophisticated source of entertainment.

Perhaps _that _was why torturing Alexander didn't seem such an exciting prospect as it had done last year. It was Fred who was running this, and perhaps it was for that reason that James had found a new target, maybe hoping that Fred wouldn't so easily leap before he looked.

But from this year, regardless of the tentative, unnerving reason, James had found someone else who he yearned to evoke a hot-headed reaction from. Her name was Sophie Chambers. And he knew why making fun of her seemed so alluring - Fred wasn't very good at disguising his feelings. And James couldn't help but think that Fred would feel differently about it, as James did. And even he didn't, maybe by something fresh, James would go back to his less worrisome, carefree self. He missed that person, especially when Fred thought he was still here. So Sophie seemed a safe choice, no matter what way it went. She was a year below him, and while quiet, she would explode if provoked, he knew.

And he was waiting eagerly for that explosion.

He wasn't worried about school - he was lucky enough to say that he was naturally gifted, but that didn't mean that the year hadn't brought on new responsibilities. He had been playing Chaser last year - but this year, not only had they lost a Chaser, both Beaters and a Keeper, they had lost their Seeker - which meant that auditions would be for two new Chasers this year. He was determined to play Seeker, the position he had always been best at. His sister Lily was actually a fantastic Seeker too. He had grumbled about playing Chaser to his father, who rolled his eyes and told James to be patient.

But his dad didn't understand - there was a lot to live up to. _Harry Potter _had been playing Seeker from the day he set foot in Hogwarts, and everyone expected James to be the same when he'd arrived at Hogwarts. But the team had already _had _a Seeker, so James had to find a new way to impress everyone.

He wanted to play Seeker because he knew that that was what he was best at, and he wanted his father to see that. Sometimes he couldn't tell if it was his father he was trying to impress, or everybody else by living up to his father. Either way, Quidditch was the way to do it.

Lily understood - although she didn't seem to feel the need to impress either of their parents the way he did.

And Al, in his third year - well, Al didn't have a lot of time for Quidditch.

But he knew how proud it would make his father to finally have the Quidditch cup back in Gryffindor hands, so once the badge had fallen out of his Hogwarts letter, immediately he begun planning for the best team Hogwarts had seen these many years.

His mother had been so _proud; _she'd made a special cake in the shape of a Snitch ("Just like your mother did," their father recalled fondly) and they offered to buy him a new broom as a present. But he liked his broom, so instead they simply bought him new supplies.

James knew this had to be perfect.

So it was three weeks into the school year when James held tryouts. It was a murky Friday evening, and it threatened rain more than he had hoped, but at six thirty he still abandoned his shepard's pie, clutching a Snitch in his pocket. It fought against his fingers, and he checked his watch every five minutes, before shooting his friends a furtive glance.

He didn't want to appear too eager to them, but he couldn't wait to be out on the pitch - it was better than flying around the field at home. It was like a taste of what was waiting in the professional world of Quidditch, and he liked it a lot.

"Well, I better go get this over with," he eventually muttered to Fred and Michael, pretending that he would rather do anything than go to a Quidditch tryout. In actual fact, he was very keen to go, and looking forward to it - but he wasn't about to tell them that. They would have slagged him off for it; it wasn't cool to be tripping over your own feet over anything. And being cool was everything. Besides, he reckoned they knew without him having to tell them, so he wasn't about to go embarrass himself.

Fred snorted. "Tell hello to the first years for me."

James frowned, cringing at his cousin. "How many do you think I'll get?"

Michael grinned up at him, some pieces of pasta dangling from his mouth. "Well I heard two talking about how _dreamy _the new Quidditch captain he was," he informed James, pulling a face and pushing away his food like he had just lost his appetite.

"I don't see it, personally," Fred muttered into his second pudding.

James thwacked him over the back of his head lightly. "Honestly, Fred - jealousy's an ugly colour on you. Then of course, so is everything else."

"Careful, Potter," Fred said warningly, but he was grinning at his cousin. James rolled his eyes.

"So what are you two going to do while I'm gone?" he asked them. He hated when they did things without him - he hated missing the fun, and he always had the fear that next time, they wouldn't bother with him. And eventually, when he didn't have another engagement to get to, they just wouldn't bother asking him.

Fred snorted. "We're going to see how far we have to push the ickle prefect before she has to punish us," he told James cheerfully.

Michael nodded with a sage expression. "I reckon she'll just walk away, some prefect _she _is."

James glanced between the two of them for a second, and realized that he didn't understand their preoccupation. Of course, he would never miss an opportunity, but that was more habit than anything else, something to do if she passed him in the corridor. The weird thing was that, usually, he would have been joining in, and loudly lamenting the fact that he'd miss all the excitement because he had to go to Quidditch.

"Well, don't do anything I wouldn't do," he told them, smirking. They nodded, throwing each other a knowing smile.

"I'll see you later," James muttered - "Can you bring my bag up to the common room?"

Michael nodded absent-mindedly, and James left, only stopping further down the table to ruffle Al's hair.

"Alright, squirt?" he grinned, watching with glee as Albus pouted and hurriedly fixed his hair back into order. He nodded towards Albus' friends, who grinned back at him, somewhat shyly. They knew who Albus Potter was, obviously, and while popular in his own right, his popularity differed severely to James', who was constantly in the spotlight, and had a reputation and a name much larger than the person. So he supposed their looks of astonishment or apprehension weren't entirely unwarranted. "You coming to try out?" he asked Albus.

Al shook his head serenely. "I have a lot of studying to do," he informed his older brother, who looked appalled.

"Al, we're only three weeks back," he said beseechingly, wondering what damage Al had undergone as a baby to make him say something like that. It was strange that they were so different. It didn't bother either of them, and apart from brotherly pranks or fights, they got on quite well. It almost surprised James that Al didn't sort of resent his older brother, since James liked action and causing trouble. And it wasn't to say that Albus didn't like to have fun, he had as much fun as James did, but he was much more soft-spoken than James was, more rational, wiser. He seemed to serve as James' sense of self-preservation, like a rock. They were just different. But it worked.

And then - when they weren't at school, Albus was a lot of fun. He took after James a lot when he didn't have his studies to focus on. James liked that Albus a lot better, the one who joined in all of James' hair-brained pranks and was a laugh even enough to rival James. But James couldn't begrudge his brother the desire to do well, and they still got on very well in school for two people whose schooling careers had followed severely different lifestyles.

"Some of us actually want to do well," Al said bemusedly. "It isn't all about having fun."

"It isn't?" James replied, pretending to be utterly gobsmacked. Al rolled his eyes, and with a grin, James winked at Al's friends - who were gazing, rapt with awe at the popular, cool fifth-year who was actually talking to one of them - and left, shoving his hands back into his pockets and closing his fingers around the Snitch again.

XXX

James folded his arms, his eyes scanning over the sea of excited faces. Grinning with malicious relish, he noticed Sophie Chambers, who looked very much like she was goading her curly-haired friend. What was _she _doing here? He didn't know that she played Quidditch, but he hoped that she was rather good, since nothing would delight him more than telling Fred who had made the team. Besides, it seemed like the perfect opportunity, and already he had the half-formed plan to push Fred until he cracked.

And then, with a shock, he noticed Charlie Alexander, standing recalcitrant as she glared at Anna Goldstein, who had no doubt succeeded in dragging Charlie along. He should have known that Anna would succeed in bringing her eventually, as usual.

He'd heard them talking about it a couple of weeks back, and he'd known in the back of his head that if Anna was going, there would be no doubt that she would manage to drag her best friend along, no matter how much she didn't want to go. Alexander didn't know how to speak for herself, and James rarely saw her away from Anna's side.

He couldn't deny that he was curious - Quidditch seemed very uncharacteristic for the three girls. Except for Anna, perhaps. He could privately agree that she seemed like she had been born to be a Beater. It just wasn't something you'd expect of her immediately, but once you'd seen the more volatile side to her, it was totally believable. He knew from experience how aggressive she could be, and, while he would never in a million years admit it aloud to a soul, he secretly knew he would not like to be on the receiving end of a Bludger that Anna Goldstein had been swinging at.

James was used to having the spotlight - to assume a position of official authority seemed only to put a title on it. In his opinion, he had been captaining the team since his third year anyway. But he never tired to the bright hopeful faces, staring at him, waiting for him to solve all their problems as they so often did.

He commenced the try-outs with a simple warm-up, one lap of the pitch. It was part of the advice his father had pridefully given him once he had gotten his badge. And, making a mental note to thank his father for the tip, James realized it was just as well he did.

The first four groups were abysmal. A very poor percentage remained on their brooms, and James was sure he heard a few bones crack. Rubbing his eyes, he sent most of them back to the castle after their lap, encouraging them to try again next year when they had actually learned how to fly. Maybe they had just come for a gawk at him. It wouldn't have surprised him really.

When he finally reached fliers who could actually handle a broomstick, James was keen to see what brooms they were flying. He needed his team to be playing on top brooms. Sophie Chambers was on an ancient Cleansweep Seven. Sniggering, he asked her to make sure it wouldn't fall apart with age while she was flying it, because he wouldn't be flying out to rescue her.

She replied colourfully - exactly what he had been looking for. He had calmly replied that he was quite sure that he had more knowledge of Quidditch broom-makers than she did. She didn't react well to that either. Incredibly mollified with her reaction, he moved on, wondering why on earth Fred would fancy her anyway.

But she had pointedly told him that she would be getting a new broom for her birthday, so there was really nothing for him to worry about. This, at least, put his mind to rest.

Anna Goldstein glared at him when he asked to see her broom. "I don't fancy letting you touch it," she told him coolly.

James didn't miss a beat. "Then am I to presume that you don't much fancy being on a team that I'm Captain of, so you're only here to waste my time?"

_As usual, _he added in his head, though he didn't bother saying that out loud. Anna never missed an opportunity to get into an argument with him, whenever h pulled a cheap trick or said something mean. But it wasn't a good type of argument. There were some girls that he'd argue with, and he'd find it sort of invigorating, almost enjoyable, and he liked the palpable tension in the air. But he didn't get that tension with Anna at all - whenever she started to argue, he just became more and more convinced of how insufferably, incurably irritating she was.

He could tell she was fighting back a smile, but she held her face steady and grudgingly held out her broom. "A Nimbus, not bad," he remarked. He looked for a number - the trademark by which you could determine its quality - but it had been rubbed off. "Merlin, it's a little worn for wear, isn't it?"

"I'm a frequent flier," Anna smiled placidly. "It's a two thousand and six."

"Little ancient, that model, isn't it?"

"It ripens with age," Anna retorted.

"Well, don't let it ripen too much, before it rots to mush," he told her, satisfied, handing it back to her.

She took it with a sour face on her. "And what about you, Alexander?" James asked Charlie, who pursed her lips to one side. "Managed to borrow a broom for the occasion?"

She shrugged her shoulders, unusually unperturbed by his comment. "Well, no. My mother gave it to me for my twelfth birthday," she said lightly, looking anywhere but his face - mostly at Anna's shoulder fixedly - as if she was scared he would burn out her soul simply if she looked him in the eyes. "So it's a few years old, but it still works as well as it did the first day," she added cheerfully, holding out her broom.

James swore under his breath. "Is this a Cinderflare?"

He would have hated to admit it, but the quality of the broom threw him off.

Charlie nodded, looking along the curve of the broom. "Yep, 'specially for very lightweight players. And Keepers need to be agile. They've brought out a new model since," she added dubiously. "But you know how it is, when you get fond of a broom . . . " She trailed off, going red in the face like she had realized that he didn't want to hear her rambling on.

But privately, James knew exactly what she was talking about and felt a numb blunt shock that the words had left her mouth. He tried not to smile to himself, still gazing in astonishment at the broom, hardly able to believe he was holding it. As Charlie had said, it was especially made for lightweight players, usually girls - and it was the only broom he knew of that would rival the Firebolt range. There was a lot of debate about the two brooms, but he knew that at least some professional players preferred the Cinderflare.

"Not bad," he said nonchalantly as he handed it back. He could think of nothing more intelligent to say, for the first time he could remember in a long time. As he passed, he could have sworn he saw her lips curve into a small, satisfied smile - one he was not familiar with, but one that satisfied him all the same.

He split them up into groups according to their positions after that, and after a century, he was down to a Keeper and one more Beater.

Anna Goldstein had a lot of spunk, and was surprisingly good - then again, James thought, she was always quite hot-headed. Sophie Chambers played rather well too, and he pondered her tryout over and over again as he watched others, marvelling in the opportunity she was presenting. He knew full well that Fred had a torch burning for Sophie Chambers, though Fred wouldn't admit it in his darkest dreams. At least, he wouldn't until James was through with him.

So, James supposed his greatest pleasure in taunting was her was simply waiting for Fred to finally react. He would have to eventually. It was along those lines he was thinking when he realized that subconsciously, he had already made the decision to place her on the team.

The sky ahead was growing darker and grey clouds were advancing aggressively by the time that James had finally selected his team.

So there he had it - himself; Andrew Wood, Sophie Chambers and a bright-eyed sixth year called Grace Prewett as his Chasers; Anna Goldstein and a burly fifth year called Paul Cantwell as his Beaters - and for his Keeper, he had decided on a rather heavyweight flier called Mark Robbins.

In truth, there were two players that had outflown him on the day - Alexander, and a seventh year called John O' Sullivan - but he had a tight, convulsive feeling in his stomach whenever he considered putting them on the team, for very different reasons. He knew that John had very little time for him and James couldn't deny that he found John irksome and self-absorbed, and he wasn't interested in placing such a holier-than-thou character on his team. And as for Alexander - he couldn't really explain that one. He just a had disconcerting sense when he considered it; perhaps she was too fragile to be a Keeper on his team.

He brushed it off - he could always revisit his choices if he felt an uneasy enough need to.

In his opinion, Anna Goldstein could make or break him - his Achilles' heel, so to speak. But apart from Paul, she _had _flown best - and that was just so necessary for a pair of beaters - and he didn't _hate _her. In fact, he rather enjoyed frustrating her. For reasons beyond him, he'd felt somewhat that he had no choice but to at least give her a chance, and simply hope that she didn't annoy him too much.

He ignored anyone who had the nerve to complain, to question his judgement, laughing at them to himself, and after agreeing to meet the team the following Monday, he trudged back to the common room, exhausted.

XXX

"You won't guess who just made the team," James said to Fred with a smirk, dropping into a chair beside him. The common room was filled with a low buzz, and there was unusually very little excitement. The entire atmosphere seemed somehow subdued, and James couldn't help but glance around, flabbergasted, wondering if someone had died.

"Who?" came the thoroughly disinterested reply. Fred didn't even look up from his homework, and James frowned down at it. Why was he doing homework? Michael looked put out and confused as much as James, alternating between staring at the ceiling, and glaring accusingly at Fred.

James turned back to Fred with a small shrug. "Sophie Chambers," he said with glee. "You know, the fourth year?"

Fred expertly frowned, "Who?" though it sounded false, and his face showed it a second later.

James scowled; he could see the rush of flushing blood rise to colour his neck and cheeks. Completely disappointed, he slumped back in his chair, muttering, "You know bloody well who." He glanced around. "Where's my bag?"

"Oh blimey mate," said Michael suddenly, pulling guiltily at the armchair he was sitting in. "I forgot all about it."

James couldn't help but scowl a little bit. "What, you left it in the Great Hall?" His legs were sore and he was growing more tired by the second. Perhaps it was the mood in the common room, but already he felt drowsy and his eyelids were beginning to droop without his approval.

Michael nodded apologetically, and with a sigh, James hauled himself out of his chair again. "Has anyone seen Max?" he added as he did.

Fred snorted, not even bothering to look up from his homework. "He's off with Brothwell, inn'he?" James sniffed. Sarah Brothwell might as well have wrapped herself around Max permanently at this point.

He wondered whether someone should tell her that no matter how decent and good Max's intentions were, he had a very short attention span. And more than that, he went with whatever whim that passed by him with the wind, and while he could really be in love with her today, next week he might be a little weirded out by her very presence.

James decided against it. Brothwell probably wouldn't listen to him anyway, and besides, it wasn't up to him to let her down gently. In fact, telling her would require him being cruel to be kind, and the kind, good-hearted intention behind it was enough to put anybody.

He waited for a second, expecting somebody to offer to walk down with him. The castle was boring without someone to talk to, unless you were getting up to a little mischief by yourself. And he was too worn out after Quidditch to go causing trouble _by __himself. _

Rolling his eyes, James muttered that he'd be back in a few minutes and began the seemingly perpetual walk back down to the Great Hall. It seemed such a longer walk when he was by himself, and the castle had grown quiet, though it was not unwelcoming. It was never unwelcoming.

He pulled his Snitch back out of his pocket and busied himself with it - it was just edging nearer to half eight now, and fifth years had been given an extra half-hour allowance in the evenings, so he had an hour to be back in his common room. Not that it bothered him much to be out after hours - he had done it countless times. But he hadn't bothered bringing the Cloak with him - and whenever he was stupid enough to go wandering off by himself without that blessed family heirloom, he always seemed to get caught. And for that very reason, he had earned about forty percent of his detentions.

Besides, it was no fun to get into trouble by yourself.

He retrieved his bag from the Great Hall, which was cleared of eating utensils, and dimly lit. Cursing Michael under his breath, he made his way back to the tower, already bored with what surrounded him.

He was only two floors up when he noticed a familiar rake of dark brown hair, piled up in an elegant bun. James couldn't help but hope that he wouldn't be bored if he made a task of it for the night. He was beginning to hope that he'd snap back into his old self, without this doubt and confusion. And he believed himself, even if it was just for the night. Grinning with puckish malice, he ran to catch up.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated.

**Note: **Edited 15/2, because it was sort of awful.


	3. The Cowardly Lion

I don't own Harry Potter! All credit goes to Jo and her wonderful world. I don't think there's anything warning worthy in this. Onward!

* * *

**The Cowardly Lion**

"Oi, Alexander!"

The source of the shouting was a voice that Charlie considered dreadfully familiar. With four years of school behind her, it had grown to be something she feared, especially when she didn't have company. Like all traditional bullies, they very rarely bothered with her when she was surrounded by people - although, that could have been due to the fact that Charlie very easily got lost in the crowd, so it may have been that she simply went unnoticed.

But a time like this, staggering under a mountain of books and quietly traipsing back to the common room - well, she was an easy target, like the same principle of a falcon cornering its prey. She felt her body go rigid, and she realized that her legs had stopped of their own accord, and she had skidded to a halt in the middle of an almost-deserted corridor.

She supposed she was lucky that they treated a large proportion of students the way they did - she shuddered to think how much worse it would be if she was receiving preferential treatment from the boys, reserved specially for her. She didn't think she would be able to handle that.

Her eyes slipped closed for a minute. She would curse herself internally all day long every day, for letting this happen to her all the time. And yet, it happened.

"Alright, Charlotte?" He grinned at her, and she felt her insides freeze over.

Her lips in a taut line, she pulled her books closer to her chest and looked in that general direction. He wasn't as hurtful when he couldn't see her eyes, she had noticed. "Potter, no one calls me that." She mentally smacked her head - Charlotte was practically civil for him, and he could call her a lot worse if he so pleased. So why was she chiding him for calling her what was her given name? She wished she had witty remarks to throw back at him like Anna did, but James Potter had a remarkable effect; people found themselves easily flustered by him, and Charlie was no exception to this unspoken rule.

James frowned at her. "I've always called you that." _Yeah, _Charlotte thought, _whenever you remember that I have a first name. _He raked his fingers through his hair, which was swept about from having run up two corridors to catch her. He flattened it - which failed - and blew it out of his eyes. But it stuck up all the same anyway, the same as if he'd just jumped off his broomstick.

"And thus, the point proves itself," Charlie muttered, looking at her shoes.

He snorted. "Right, well," he said. "You headed back to the common room?"

"Yes," Charlie replied shortly, glancing around her.

"Well, I'm headed that way too," he told her gleefully. "Might as well walk together. It'll be quite weird if I just follow you the entire way up." She couldn't deny his logic - anybody else, and she almost wouldn't have minded the company, even though it was one of her days alone.

"Not as weird as this," Charlie replied, suppressing a groan. Every voice in her head was just screaming to get away from him; her books were shaking in her trembling hands. Completely ashamed, she realized she was scared of this boy, full-on petrified of what he could do to her, with nothing but a few seemingly harmless words.

It had started off so innocently.

_Close to Christmas of first year, Charlie sat with her nose buried in a book her father had sent her as an early Christmas present. As a Muggle, he had studied English for six years and now lectured at Oxford, and though his three daughters were witches, it hardly mattered, since he wasn't aware of that fact. And he tried to impress on them, if nothing else, a flourishing love for the English language. So their rooms were piled with books; not just their rooms, their whole house was littered with them, in the kitchen cupboards, piles tottering unsteadily and threatening to fall over, laid to rest beside the expensive glass ornaments, books in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Anywhere they could stick them, there they were._

_Anna, who hailed from an entirely wizarding background, was only vaguely familiar with _Alice in Wonderland, _and insisted that_ Babbity Rabbity_ was better by miles._

_"Come on, Charlie, let's have a game of Reusable Hangman," she coaxed, picking up Charlie's Defence Against the Dark Arts book and tossing it under Charlie's chair._

_Charlie shook her head. "I have to finish that essay," she said tiredly, dragging her bag towards her. "And so do you, remember?"_

_Anna wrinkled her nose, but yanked her essay up and dipped her quill in some ink, and began to write furiously._

_Charlie rolled her eyes, and sucking on her quill, she thought for a few seconds about what she was supposed to say about the correct execution of curses to hinder your opponent temporarily. She had looked it up, and found the Full Body-Bind Curse, the Impediment Jinx, and of course, the old reliable Disarming Spell, but she felt it was a little on the short side, and with that, she flicked through a nearby spell book for a fourth option._

_She tried not to glance over her shoulder at the boys in her year, who were gathered together on the other side of the room, and were laughing raucously. She did look around between sentences, very surreptitiously, and the sight held her gaze for a few seconds, a small, empty hollow in her heart as she watched them. _

_And feeling a fluttering in her stomach, she returned to her essay hurriedly, shaking her head as if to shake the distraction out her head. She bit down on her lip as she bent over the paper, forcing herself to concentrate. _

_"Oi!" She glanced up in surprise when Anna let out a shout and leaped up, seemingly following her quill, which was floating in mid-air a few steps in front of her. "Honestly, Potter," she said scathingly. "If you were any thicker, it would actually be too cruel to call you a complete moron."_

_"Not very friendly, Goldstein," he retorted, grinning. At this point, Potter and his friends had yet to find any joy in taunting people or being cruel, but all of them seemed to have an unnatural affinity for mischief and talent for trouble. She wished he would always be so harmless though. _

_"Well, that is what I was going for," she spat, snatching her quill and stomping back to where Charlie sat, watching quietly. Her cheeks had flushed and she stared resolutely at the corner of the table they were both bent over, feeling like her heart was recoiling in her chest. _

_"He's got troll dung for brains, that one," she muttered, leaning closely over her parchment._

_"You don't fancy him, do you?" Charlie groaned. Even at eleven, she knew someone overcompensating when she saw it. After all, she did read an awful lot. And the thought twisted her stomach, and she couldn't help herself but ask it, though she was wary of whatever answer Anna could give her. _

_"What? No!" Anna said, pulling a grotesque face._

_Charlie sniggered. "All I'm saying is, the lady doth protest too much, methinks."_

_"Very funny," Anna replied._

_It was about half an hour after - both of them had finished their homework, and were now thoroughly enjoying an excitable game of wizards' chess. It was strange - all the boys tried to do was the exact same thing they had done to Anna, who had reacted hysterically in Charlie's humble opinion - and all it took was silence on her part for their encouragement, and they hadn't stopped since._

James vaulted out an arm to stop her when she tried to walk on ahead of him; grinning at her, he threw his other hand up in defense. With her thoughts still caught up in her memories, all the way back to first year, she could do nothing to stop the rush of blood that sped to her cheeks, and she looked the other way, even as he let out a small laugh. "I swear, I won't make fun of you."

She rolled her eyes. "You say that every day of my life."

"Yeah, but I mean it this time," James replied, his eyes sparkling.

Charlie shook her head. "Leave me alone, Potter." Pushing past him, she quickened her pace, but he caught up with her again, grinning with malice.

"No," he replied. She ignored him. She came to a stop again, and squeezed her eyes shut. She longed to rub her eyes or her forehead, or even pinch the bridge of her nose for a moment's calm, but the books in her arm were toppling precariously and it was all she could do to keep a hold of them and heave a great sigh.

She racked her brains for something that would easily work - she could say that she'd forgotten something in the library, but it was surely edging to nine o' clock now, and in her old age, Madam Pince was becoming more and more protective about her books, and wouldn't let anyone in after the twenty to nine mark, even though the library didn't close until nine.

So she bit her lip and thought hard, and James watched her curiously for a second, shoving his hands in his pockets. Then, eventually, he seemed to decide he didn't like the silence, he didn't like the misery that was surely emanating from her.

"You flew well today," he told her.

"Is this the beginning of the 'you're-good-just-not-good-enough' speech?" she said grimly, avoiding his gaze, which was strangely intense.

James grinned crookedly, cocking his head to the side. "Listen, the reason I did what I did was because . . . I didn't feel like you really wanted it. I needed to feel that," he told her, and she blinked at him. She had no clue whether he was lying or not, and she didn't care. She felt like her skin was crawling simply because she was aware that he was remotely close to her, and like it could sense his presence, it felt like her skin just wanted to singe off.

But he looked so earnest, and he seemed to speak so completely honestly. For a second, Charlie believed that James Potter really cared an almost inhuman amount about something, about anything. And he seemed to really mean and believe what he said, she had to give him that.

She bit hard on her lip, fighting a groan. She would have said something, but she was too frightened to say anything that he could use against her - which, in truth, was anything she could say - and she had no clue what to say anyway. She never had any clue what to say to him when he made fun of her. In fact, she never had any clue what to say to him regardless of whether he was making fun of her or not. She always stuttered over her words, fumbled - and once they laughed, she was a goner.

She didn't have the same confidence that Anna had - she couldn't say 'boo' to a mouse. A lot of the time, she wondered what she was doing in Gryffindor anyway. Hufflepuff would have been a better fit, or even Ravenclaw if she was lucky. And it had bothered her for years, the question that surrounded her Sorting - just what had the Sorting Hat seen in her head that had caused him to resolutely and adamantly place her in Gryffindor.

If she'd known at the time, she would have demanded another try, no matter if she was a hatstall for days. But she just wished she knew what the Sorting Hat had found deep inside her brain that deemed her worthy. It might help to get her through the day.

"Listen," she managed to mutter. "I only went because Anna forced me into it." It was embarrassing to admit - Anna was an incredibly persuasive, influential person, but she didn't like the idea of insinuating or letting on to Potter that someone could have such control over her.

James snorted. "That's what I thought. You need to love it." He nodded his head wisely, eyeing her coolly.

"I didn't say I didn't love it!" Charlie said hotly, and then bit her lip. Where did that come from? She felt her cheeks burn, and there was a very pregnant pause as James scanned her face, a slightly cynical expression on his face. He didn't know whether to take her seriously or not.

"Do you love it?" he asked her skeptically, after what seemed like a century, raising an eyebrow. She kept her eyes fixed on her feet.

"When I'm with my family," she muttered. "It's _you _I don't love; I couldn't be on a team you were running."

He laughed; a loud, genuine sound, and Charlie looked up in alarm, startled by such a nice, soft-sounding human noise. It was almost warm. "Do you really think I'm that unprofessional?" he asked, very confidently.

She didn't reply - she couldn't reply. She had never said squat to him, she had never done anything that warranted his endless stream of taunts and tricks. Because she had never known what to say. "Well? Do you?" he prodded.

When she didn't reply again, he gave her a little shove, inadvertently forcing her into one of the trick steps on the seventh stairwell. Scowling, Charlie yanked her leg out of the trick step and bit back hot tears stinging the back of her eyes. When she got to her feet, James was holding out one of the books that she had missed as she'd scrambled to pick them up.

"Sorry," he muttered, sounding very much like he was fighting to hold in his laughter.

Charlie took it. "Yeah, I'm sure," she said dryly, letting out a weary, exasperated sigh. When did the common room get so bloody far from the library anyway?

XXX

"What a load of rubbish!" Anna exclaimed, her hands on her hips.

"Anna, don't -" Charlie began to protest, but Anna, with angry red blotches on her cheeks, threw a hand up to stop her. She snatched down the list of the team members from the noticeboard, and ripped it into halves, and threw the pieces on the ground. She stomped over to the armchair and plonked down in it, petulantly frowning up at Charlie, who followed reluctantly.

"Oh, Anna, let it go," she muttered. "Let him do what he wants, it doesn't bother me . . ."

Anna rolled her eyes as Charlie perched herself precariously on the chair closest to her. "Don't lie, Charlie, it bothers you and nobody's stupid enough to think otherwise." Charlie frowned. "That's your problem, Charlie," Anna continued, drawing out a thick Arithmancy book from her bag. "You always let him do whatever he wanted, and looks where it's got you. Terrified."

"I'm not terrified," Charlie replied, but Anna laughed at her almost immediately. "I don't need that from you," Charlie said quietly, but whether Anna heard her or not, she acted as if she hadn't. She should have said it louder, she should have stood up for herself, even to her best friend. But she didn't, and it didn't matter whether she could or not.

Anna was right - that _was _her problem. She didn't know how to stand up to anybody. But she didn't need her best friend scolding her for it. Why couldn't she just be there for her when she needed someone to talk to. But that had never been Anna's way.

"Maybe I'll play badly," Anna said then. "Just to punish him." She idly flicked through her book, and Charlie watched the flames flickering in the fire, like her insides were, full of butterflies and quiet thoughts she'd never get to voice because she didn't have the guts. What was she even doing in Gryffindor anyway? She was as far from brave as a person could possibly be.

"Don't do that," Charlie muttered, sighing softly. "That won't do any good." Besides, she added in her head. That would probably only give Potter an incentive to pick on _her _more, because no one ever targeted Anna unless they wanted to end up in the hospital wing.

"It'll teach him a lesson," Anna muttered, not looking up, deeply engrossed in finding a particular page.

"Just don't," said Charlie warningly. That was all she needed - she could read it like a book; she'd complain about Potter after every practice, until she deliberately played so badly, Potter would kick her off the team. And then she'd just complain about that, straight in Charlie's ear the whole time.

Charlie wrinkled her nose - Anna mimicked her, less that two seconds later. "Why don't we go out on the pitch tomorrow?" she suggested, much to Charlie's dismay. "Throw around the Quaffle for a bit?"

Charlie managed a small grin. "I don't know," she said jokingly. "I'm not team personnel, I don't think I'm allowed."

Anna scowled at her. "Well, there's no need to be facetious."

Charlie snorted. "I taught you that word."

Anna muttered, scribbling something in the corner of her book. "Mm-hmm," she murmured, tongue sticking out. "About all I've learned, mind you. But it's something," she added, grinning vivaciously up at Charlie. "So what do you say?"

Charlie sighed, finding it hard to say no to Anna's hopeful face. "Why not? Might be good to get outside for a while."

XXX

The last class of the day was Transfiguration, and after a complete crash course of their last four years of education in the subject, they were treated to an extensive, gruelling and monotonous lecture on the importance of the work and effort they put in this year, in the build up to the exams. Their teacher, Professor Callworth had just entered the room - and there was no sign of Anna.

Charlie didn't even bother looking around - too many times she had simply not turned up to class, and too many times she had wasted precious energy asking questions, and since then, she had come to accept it.

It irked her that Anna had the nerve to complain about how little she was learning or retaining, when she only attended about half her classes. In a sort of disjointed, dreamy way, Charlie considered refusing to give Anna the notes and seeing how much she went to her classes then. But she knew that Anna was a lot more stubborn than she was - she'd continue to not to turn up to class and it wouldn't matter how badly she fared in tests and end of term grades. And eventually, Charlie wouldn't be able to suffer through it anymore, and she'd cave and give in to Anna and let her have the bloody notes.

It was really not worth the trauma, she knew. So it was no surprise that Anna wasn't in the seat next to her - in fact, judging by Anna's mood that morning at breakfast, Charlie had been almost expecting.

What she had not been expecting was Andrew Wood swinging into the seat that she usually reserved for Anna. She liked Anna to sit beside her in all their classes, because every so often James Potter and Fred Weasley would be reminded of her existence, and remember that they loved nothing more than to sit directly behind her and agitate her; they seemed to have an affinity for discovering new ways to torment her in class. They hadn't arrived yet either.

"Hi," he grinned at her, piling his books onto the desk. At her stunned expression, he tilted his head to the side. "I presumed Anna wasn't coming."

"You're probably right," Charlie muttered, smiling in spite of herself, ignoring a gentle tug on a strand of her hair. Andrew frowned at the boys who had just eased nonchalantly into their seats behind her, grinning at ease. But Charlie pretended she didn't see his expression. It was always easier not to provoke them - they were like animals; if you left them alone, you had a much better chance.

"It seems she's always trying to throw me a bone, Anna is," Andrew remarked.

"In what way?" Charlie said mildly, blinking at him. She held her tongue - she could have expressed the opinion that this was highly doubtful, since Anna had very - _very - _little time for Andrew Wood. But it was no harm to let him think that, so she allowed it.

"Well, she's not here," Andrew explained. "I get her seat."

There came a snort and some faint sniggering from behind her. By now, Professor Callworth was in full flow, and while he was rather formidable on most occasions, he seemed to be losing his grip on his entire audience in today's class. It seemed like the class had a lot less brainpower than usual - Charlie put it down to the absolutely delectable chocolate cake that had left them all bloated and lethargic, but delighted with themselves all the same.

"And there is nothing more challenging than the art of Transfiguration, and in such contexts, the ability to transform even pure air itself into something material, substantial, dimensional . . . corporeal . . ."

"Well, I'm sure she'd be very upset if she heard you were occupying her seat," Charlie laughed.

"Well," Andrew said, clearing his throat. "I'd better make the most of this time I have then." Charlie blinked at him, and she registered his words having more meaning than they appeared to if they were printed in front of her. There was something about the way he was looking at her, and if Anna was there, she would have scoffed and told Wood to stop flirting, because it wasn't going to get anywhere.

Charlie didn't know whether to smile or grimace at the thought of Andrew Wood _flirting _with her. It seemed oddly wrong, and Charlie wished more than anything that he had the sense not to try it in front of _them. _And, as if to prove her point, there was a small, sudden outburst from the table behind; Charlie chanced a quick glance around her shoulder - Fred Weasley had stuffed his fist in his mouth. Potter wasn't laughing - in fact, he looked unimpressed, mildly disinterested, completely apathetic. He looked like his face couldn't be sculpted to convey any expression besides complete and utter indifference.

"Give it a rest, Wood," he advised, looking bored. "For the sake of my sanity, just put a sock in it."

Charlie rolled her eyes. Andrew scowled at him. "I have reservations about your sanity at any rate, Potter."

"Nice," Fred remarked patronizingly, grinning ear to ear at Andrew, who stared at them as if they both had some sort of mental illness, and he didn't know whether to be annoyed or sympathetic, depending on how badly off the pair of them were. With a frustrated sigh, Charlie turned around again and rested her head in her arms on her desk, and tried her hardest to turn her attention to Professor Callworth until the bell sounded the end of class.

When they were at least released, Charlie bolted out of the classroom without another word or a second glance at Andrew, who stared after her in bewilderment.

Anna was waiting for her in the Entrance Hall, ready with their brooms, and together they traipsed out to the Quidditch pitch, ready to fly.

"Alright!" Anna shouted from one end of the pitch. "You Keep, and I'll try and get something past you."

"'Try' being the operative phrase," Charlie yelled back. Anna let out a roar of raucous laughter and chucked the Quaffle with all her might in Charlie's direction; she caught with ease, and Anna pretended to applaud and cheer. Because, contrary to popular belief (or rather, the fact that very few people knew that Charlie even played Quiditch), she was rather good at it.

She didn't know why she ended up being a good Keeper out of all things - her mother had tried to so hard to mould her into a Chaser like she had been when she was at school, but it seemed that her catch was better than her throw, and Charlie never missed an opportunity to play Keeper when she got the chance.

And it was great to be up in the air - the wind washed over her face, and she felt for a little while like she hadn't a care in the world. And she forgot all about Andrew and his weird comment, she forgot about school and her family and the way Anna forced her into doing things. She even forgot about Potter and his friends, for a while. But this blissful obliviousness was short-lived.

"Goldstein, who let you on the pitch?"

"Oh, no," Charlie muttered, wheeling around on her broom, which seemed to work in sync with her brain.

"Get lost, Potter, this is open territory," she heard Anna yell down the pitch as she shot towards the ground. Sighing, Charlie conceded to touch down as well. She could already hear Potter yelling back at her, and Anna had reached Potter, and was now shouting in his face, and the girl that James had brought with him was eyeing the scene with her eyebrows raised, and her big blue dewy eyes filled with light and innocence.

Charlie sighed and went to Anna's side eventually, praying that James wouldn't mention their Transfiguration class today. The last thing she needed was for James to bring it up to Anna. For a start, she doubted that it was very likely that Anna would let it go before the century was out, and she knew that James would milk it for all he could, just to embarrass her further.

Charlie would have been prepared to bet that Anna had more time for James Potter than she did for Andrew, because Andrew was bland and dull and tasteless. At least Potter had opinions, at least she could openly argue with him about anything with the knowledge that he wouldn't concede immediately and politely, and then proceed to explain how she was right. At least Potter, as Charlie suspected Anna herself would put it, was a person of _passion. _

Waiting for the pair of them to get over yourselves was not something Charlie was unaccustomed to, but it was tedious and rather predictable, and with the idle moments, Charlie eyed the girl, whose eyebrows were shooting further and further up towards her hairline.

Charlie wondered what this girl saw between the pair of them. If Charlie didn't know Anna (or how wholesomely she seemed to hate James Potter and everything associated with James Potter, or how she seemed to detest the ground he walked on and genuinely despised the very air that he breathed, as if it was doing her a great personal disservice and betraying all of humanity by prolonging his life), Charlie would have thought there was something there that wasn't there. She would have seen what could have been defined as a spark, and probably looked like a spark to someone who was really looking for it.

But Charlie did know Anna, and she knew that her hatred of him wasn't derived from any sort of desire or attraction to the boy of all things. It was pure.

Anna raised her arm, and Charlie let out a yelp and grabbed onto her wrist, scowling. James raised his eyebrows. Charlie had been surveying the blonde girl with interest, watching how her eyes were fixed on him. And once she had Anna in her grip, she went back to the girl, who was now looking at the two of them coldly. So Charlie decided it was time for them to make their exit.

Just for good measure, Charlie muttered a cheerful hello to the girl, who looked positively affronted and gazed at James for some sort of validation or gratification, as Charlie gripped Anna's upper arm and marched her from the pitch, while Anna let out a hiss of vulgar profanities.

Looking back, Charlie could see Potter slip his arm around the girl's waist before they disappeared, and with Anna's spiteful remarks still ringing in her ears, she frogmarched her best friend from the pitch, keeping a firm grasp on her arm. She sighed and swallowed, her breath hitching in the cold as night descended around them.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated.

**Note: **This was edited 12/3, because it was a little on the short side. There were a lot of details that were meant to be included much later into the story, but since I wrote this chapter, my plan had been kind of condensed and these were left on the wayside, until I realized that they'd work much better here anyway. Okay, that's it!


	4. Missing In Action

I don't own Harry Potter!

* * *

**Missing In Action**

Following a sharp jab in the ribs from Fred, James jolted upright and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Professor Flitwick was reciting the speech that James was so sure that he would have been prepared to bet they had pinned up in the teacher's lounge for the benefit of the fifth and seventh year students.

He sat at the back of the class with Fred, who had bewitched a piece of paper and was tossing it toward James.

"I heard he's retiring, what d'you reckon?" Fred muttered. James grunted. "I don't know," Fred went on. "I was hoping he'd stick it out until my NEWTs are over, he's the best Charms teacher there is." Again, James grunted. "And you know Charms is my best subject. Well you wouldn't, everything's your best subject."

"True," James replied, just listening enough to hear when Fred was talking about him. He didn't really think much of the dark look that Fred gave him then - it was hardly _his _fault that he was blessed with extraordinary aptitude for everything he tried.

"But at least we'll get a good OWL, right?" Fred went on, trying and failing to keep his tone casual. James ignored it - Fred tried very hard to act very cool about everything, so James tended to let him. As for James - well, he was the thing Fred was trying to be. He didn't get excited about anything, at least not outwardly; he _was _cool about everything. His mother told him a million times a year that he'd have to quit being so blassé and take life seriously.

He never really listened to her. Life was a lot more fun when not taken seriously.

Chin resting in his hand, his strained gaze found the back of Andrew Wood's head, sitting all the way at the front of the class. Now there was something the complete opposite to James. He was so hard-working - James hated overachievers. Why would you ever need to try for more than you needed? Why did anybody need to try at all? He had never had any trouble in school, and he rarely cracked a book at all. Personally, he considered himself to be a success story of sorts for the teachers, one of those 'gifted kids' that people harped on about.

But he didn't really flash that around, because it wasn't cool to do too well in school, and grades weren't that important as long as your life was a good one, so he didn't see much point in bragging on and on about something that was good to have, but didn't mean much to him.

James watched with casual disinterest as Andrew leaned over to whisper in Charlie Alexander's ear; she was sitting between him and Anna Goldstein, whose face was going more scarlet by the second from her concentration, which was a rare sight.

Charlie laughed, and James couldn't help but roll his almost thought he felt a surge of rage towards Andrew - who the hell did Andrew think he was? He could flirt all he liked; Alexander was so oblivious, he'd never get anywhere with her anyway. At least, that was what James presumed. She had never reacted, and James had witnessed Andrew drop a line far more times than he was comfortable with.

And he was only making a fool of himself. He needed to just relax, like James made a habit of doing. It annoyed him that someone could try so hard for anything - he couldn't decide whether it was further annoying him or satisfying when Alexander seemed to flush and turn away without a word. At least he wasn't getting anywhere.

"What are you looking at?" Fred hissed, peering across at James' empty parchment, while he struggled to keep on top of his own notes.

"Nothing," James murmured distractedly, still engrossed in his thoughts.

In fact, he was just thinking to himself, Andrew was damn lucky he was such a good Quidditch player, or James wouldn't have bothered tolerating him. He hated to admit it, but he did suppose that Wood had it in his blood, and he would have to put up with it if he wanted the best team he could muster.

Which brought him back to Charlie. What disturbed him was how unperturbed she was by not making the team. She'd even been out flying with Anna. And he had to admit, the girl could fly, and it was the last thing he would have ever expected. He liked the way she moved on the broom, how at ease she seemed. She looked _good _on a broom, up there in the air, smiling more genuinely than he thought he had ever seen her smile, her robes whipping tightly across her when the wind swept her up.

She had made him think for a few seconds that nothing could touch her, not man nor beast nor god - or even _him. _And he'd smiled to himself, oddly pleased at the thought.

And he couldn't help but wonder whether he'd be better off with her on the team. But he had to wonder if she had it in her. After all, he needed the best team he could get, and if she was going to choke, like she did every time he said something nasty or even remotely insulting, she was no good to him.

Fred elbowed him sharply in the ribs - he let out a yelp just as the bell signalled the end of class. He threw his friend a dark look as he stuffed his things back in his bag and tumbled out of their desk, grunting and grumbling to himself.

He shoved his way to the front of the pileup at the door, already having decided that he wasn't going to his Care of Magical Creatures class. He just wasn't in the mood - his head was too full of Quidditch plays and people who possibly should have been Keepers and people who were killers, and all the while special moves he'd picked up from one of his countless Quidditch books were constantly going through his mind like they were part of a movie reel that never stopped, even when he closed his eyes, exhausted after a long day. No matter how tired his brain was, whenever he had a spare second, it kicked into overdrive about Quidditch.

Because it was imperative that everything went right, because James had something to prove - not just to his friends, his teachers, his House, the whole school. There was something he had to prove to himself, and something he knew he had to prove to his father - and once things started to go his way, he was sure he'd figure out exactly what it was he was trying to prove. All he knew was that this had to go well. The rest of his life at Hogwarts depended on it.

"Fred, can you tell Hagrid I'm sick?" he asked, shoving apart two third year Hufflepuffs who were, rather stupidly, having a conversation in the middle of the staircase.

"I can tell him," replied Fred from over James' shoulder. "I can't make him believe me."

James glanced back at him, pulling a face, even though Fred was only joking, and what was more, he was right. It was no real surprise that Hagrid was incredibly fond of all of them, especially James and his brother and sister. But Hagrid always said that he was too much like his grandfather for his own good, and Hagrid knew James too well to fall for anything that James may throw at him.

"Well, I can't go," said James. "I have a massive headache." He glared daggers at the large group of Ravenclaws who were very ignorantly blocking up the end of the stairs. He swore to himself as he passed, aiming a swing at them with his bag and glowering. There were people who were just plain annoying all the time, but most people were normal. But James could have sworn that everybody waited until he was in a particularly foul mood and then unleashed all their annoying habits like standing in the way of people trying to pass, or holding large conversations in an inconvenient space.

And everyone peered around at him curiously as he passed, because even though he could use his words cruelly, James Potter was usually in good spirits if he liked the person he was talking to, and they allowed him to be. But today just seemed to be a day that everybody was hellbent on making him more and more irritable as the day wore on.

He heard Fred snort. "You always have a massive headache, mate. Might wanna get that checked out."

"And," James ploughed on. "Do you realize our first Quidditch match is in a week? We're practising tonight."

"What does that have to do with your going to Care of Magical Creatures?"

James scowled at him and waited for Fred to fall into step beside him when they got to the ground floor. "It just does, I have more important things to do than go to some class and look at flobberworms," he said pointedly, making Fred raise his eyebrows.

"How did the first one go?"

James rolled his eyes as they maneuvered their way through the Entrance Hall, and didn't reply.

"Blimey, it wasn't that bad, was it?" Fred said, holding back a snigger.

James shook his head. "It was fine," he said eventually, truthfully. It hadn't been a bad practice at all - but there was something wrong, and he knew that only he could see it. He thought that maybe it was the way the team was knitting together - they were all good players, individually. But James just had a feeling that something needed fixing, even though he had no idea what. "If Anna Goldstein would just learn how to shut up," he added, smirking.

There was another person who needed to get over herself - she would start a fight over anything, and there was nothing exciting about fighting with Anna Goldstein. It was just irksome, and James was so pleased with himself because he had caught her offguard and outwitted her. It was such a rare thing for Anna to be speechless, he savoured it anytime it occurred, usually of his own doing.

Fred chuckled. "Yeah, good luck with that."

XXX

James took all of Saturday to practise with the team, since the match was the following Saturday, the second Saturday in October. They were flying well, he had to admit. Well, it wasn't as if he had expected any less, but even he was a little chuffed at his skill in putting together a winning team. And from the off, he could feel it - the cup was theirs. Any doubts he may have had seemed to be appeased for the moment, and he was confident that they would do fine.

He had to admit, he had been worried there for a while. But at least they listened to what he told them, and he saw signs of them beginning to gel together a little better. It was very rarely that a Quidditch team would be so diminished that the captain would practically have to start again from scratch, and he knew that there could have been some teething problems. And while there was still a lot of work to do, he saw headway, and he believed that they'd be fine for at least Saturday's game.

If he had had his way, they would have won it last year. In fact, every year since he'd been on the team. But he hadn't been captain, and his plays and moves had been overruled, and look at that - second, three years in a row. Well, not this year. He knew that his reputation would derive completely from how Gryffindor did - and he was going to make sure he was the most appreciated captain the Gryffindor team every had.

Of course, it was hard to be completely tolerant of every little quirk of people that he didn't know too well. The main culprits of feeding his aggravation were Anna, and Andrew - who James realized he had developed a completely unprovoked dislike for.

He was just _annoying, _the way he always over-achieved, made stupid jokes and laughed at them when no one else did. He was especially annoying whenever he sat in front of James in classes, usually to squeeze himself in beside either Goldstein or Alexander, the terrible twins if there ever were a pair.

It had been amusing at first - since James didn't know who Andrew thought he was kidding - but now it was just plain annoying. Talk about subtle.

Or maybe it was just that James was noticing it more. He couldn't tell.

Either way - it was shaping up to be a recipe for disaster.

At least they were flying well enough, and by the time they were traipsing back to the castle, though their limbs ached and they were so worn out that they could barely stand upright, they were in high spirits.

It seemed to spread once they were back in the common room - the noise grew louder and louder, and everyone's exuberance was starting to seep out. All around him, James could hear talk about the upcoming game, and what they expected. After all, their family was sort of famous when it came to Quiddtich.

XXX

James was still trying to comprehend why the school insisted that he went to class, when he had far more important things on his mind, which was running over plays and tackles at breakneck speed. He hadn't even been attempting homework all week - he could do it on Sunday night. He couldn't sleep with the anticipation that Friday night - and he woke up to traitorous winds on the Saturday morning. He spent a long time sitting up his bed, poring over his collection of Quidditch books to dwindle away the long hours between the time he'd woken and the time they started to serve breakfast.

He always woke up very early on the day of a Quidditch match, even if it was one that they had no chance of losing. Even on the most trivial matches - in fourth year, they had won the cup but still had three games to play out of technicality, even though it was impossible for any other team to catch them. There was just something in the atmosphere, and it had become almost routine. James now wondered what it would be like if he tried to play a game without having woken up before the sun had risen. It would seem a strange thing.

He had quite a lot of books to pass the time. His father had put him on a broomstick when he was barely two years old, and probably regretted it for the next seven or eight years, since after that, it was near impossible to keep James on the ground. In this whole world of magic that sometimes, he found himself scarcely able to believe, Quidditch was the best part of it, the very idea of being suspended in mid air, adrenaline pumping through you and a game to play.

There was just something about being up in the air.

And Quidditch was always something that he shared with his father - which was strange, considering that it was his mother who had played professionally. It wasn't as if he couldn't share it with his mother, and did, of course. But there was something special about when he'd play with his dad. He always knew that when James needed cheering up, Quidditch was the way to do it. He seemed to understand the utter wonder and love of Quidditch that James had - his mother loved it too, but sometimes James thought she took it for granted. She didn't have the same sort of bewildered delight. She just accepted that it was always there.

And James had loved having that same feeling that his father had. Of course, Harry felt that way because he had grown up thinking he was a Muggle for eleven years, and hadn't known anything about Hogwarts or magic until he received his first Hogwarts letter. That's why Quidditch was such a delight - it was because it really hadn't always been there. James suspected that he had simply picked up that feeling from his father, since he could hardly say he'd had the same upbringing.

But it was something that they both knew, without ever needing to attempt to explain it in detail - primarily because the feeling was inexplicable, something you had to feel yourself to even begin to understand - they felt the same about.

So it had been a great delight when his parents had bought him books about Quidditch for Christmas or his birthdays. He remembered when he was eight, exclaiming loudly that he wouldn't even mind that he had to read something. And they'd laughed for months afterwards every time they thought about it, but James was too deeply immersed in his books to care.

But somehow that had faded away, and the last few books that he'd received he almost considered to be silent little digs, jabbed at him. What were they trying to say - did he still need books? What had he left to learn?

He didn't look at it the same way, and it only increased his desire to play better. Eventually, it was late enough for the day for him to get up acceptably, and the rain was hammering against the window by now, almost like it was yelling just at him. And there was fiercely strong winds, which he could hear blowing outside, attacking the castle, demanding entry.

He gazed out the window as he dressed, completely appalled - his Chasers were lightweights, and he couldn't afford to have them blown halfway to London by this wind. Grace wore glasses, and wouldn't be able to see in all the rain. Anna would complain the whole tie, and he really was in no fit state to listen to her.

But that was only the beginning of his problems.

He had called the team down the pitch early, just to go back over their plays and make sure everyone knew what the strategy was. Ravenclaw were a sharp bunch, but they'd play by the rules. James knew that. His team - perhaps they weren't as well polished, but they were willing to take a few risks, and James knew it would pay off in the long run.

"Right," he said to his team, who were still half asleep. Sophie was dozing lightly on Grace's shoulders, frowning. Anna was rubbing sleep from her eyes, Paul was attempting to flatten his sleep-tousled hair, Grace was blinking at the brightness of the tent. "You'd want to wake up, we've got a game to win."

Grace frowned. "I didn't expect it to be this cold," she remarked. There was a murmur of assent around the room, and they all gazed at James petulantly, as if this was his fault. And he did feel for a second some way responsible. But he knew they weren't blaming him as such, and he was mad to think so. In fact, this would be a great test, he thought to himself. Playing in these conditions was something they'd been lucky enough to avoid up until now. In hindsight, they probably would have been luckier if they _had _been forced to battle their way through it, they would at least have done it. And James would know how his team would get on. He didn't fancy finding out firsthand in the middle of a match, which was so important, as it was their first one and he needed to make an impression.

Anna was nodding somberly. "Or windy."

"Well, it doesn't matter," James said dismissively, choosing not to glare at her, simply because he could see they were dejected and nervous, and he didn't fancy disconcerting anybody any further. They were all on edge enough as it was, nervous and cold and tired. "We're still the best team in the ruddy school, so let's prove it, alright?"

"Uh, James -" began Paul.

"Not right now," said James, turning back to the whiteboard and prodding the figures on it with his wand. "More important things." It was the truth - as far as he was concerned, nothing was more important than Quidditch. Hell, it was the reason he went to Hogwarts - it was what he cared about most, and he was confident in his team. But he didn't like their low spirits, and he was forcing it out of his mind as best he could.

"But James," protested Grace to his back, glancing at Andrew and Paul. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of Andrew shrugging helplessly.

"Give me two minutes, alright?" he snapped impatiently. He heard Grace sigh, and Paul glanced around and opened his mouth to speak again, just as the names of the Ravenclaw team were called over the megaphone. James grabbed his broom and nodded towards his team.

"James, seriously," said Andrew, sitting up straight. James resisted the urge to flinch and recoil; he contented with turning the other way, making a show out of grinning at the rest of his team.

"What is it now? We have a game to win!" he said cheerfully, causing Sophie to jerk upright. His face faltered at the dazed expression on her face.

"But James, there's -" Andrew started.

"Alright, let's go," said James resolutely, cutting across Andrew simply because he was Andrew, and strapping on his Seeker's gloves. He wasn't interested in what Andrew had to say right now - not when he had annoyed him to breaking point this whole week. And it brought him a great deal of delight to be able to cut Andrew off, and bask in the frustrated expression on his face. But it wasn't just Andrew.

"But James!" Grace burst out hysterically.

James grinned at her. "There's no need to be nervous," he said reassuringly. "We're got it covered."

Their names were called over the megaphone, and he turned away from Grace's despairing face and led his team out. Sophie was frowning in confusion, and James was rolling his eyes

"James, I really think there's something you should know," Grace said, marching after him.

"Can it wait?" James said over his shoulder.

"No it can't," said Andrew scathingly, from over Grace's shoulder, as he came to a halt and glared at James, who bit back his snort. Andrew trying to be menacing or at all intimidating was the most comical thing he had come across at Hogwarts, and that was saying a lot.

"_And please welcome, Wood, Chambers, Prewett, Goldstein, Cantwell, Robbins - and new team captain this year, Potter!"_

"Let's get this show on the road," said James cheerfully. He was tingling with excitement, and any nerves he may have had (the ones he wouldn't admit to having) seemed to have evaporated.

"_But wait - Robbins is nowhere to be found . . . What _has _our new Gryffindor captain have in store?"_

Feeling his blood freeze in his veins, James whipped around to see Anna and Grace scowling at him, arms folded.

"Where's Mark?" he hissed.

"That's what we've been trying to tell you," said Grace. "We don't know where he is."

"Nobody knows where he is," said Andrew.

"And now we have to play without a Keeper."

James opened and closed his mouth a few times, speechless. This wasn't exactly what he'd call the glorious start he had imagined. But something seemed to click in his head. There was no rule that said they needed seven players, although they were bloody well meant to have them. "Well, I guess we will," he said eventually.

"Captains, shake hands!"

Feeling like he wanted a hole in the ground to materialize and swallow him up, James went to meet the other captain, who was smirking with glee.

_"And ... they're off."_

* * *

Thanks for reading. I know it's sort of slow-moving in this chapter and dreadfully short, and not much happens, and I know, and I did have a really rough time with it, so I'd like any feedback you got for me!

**Note: **Edited because I really couldn't believe how bad it was, 13/3. It's still pretty bad but it's slightly less terrible!


	5. The Understudy

To make up for the abysmal length of the last chapter, here is an extra long chapter because reasons. Also, it might seem like there a few loose ends from the last chapter, which is only because I'm alternating points of view, but don't worry. You didn't miss anything big. And lastly, I do not, unfortunately, have the privilege of owning one smidgen of Harry Potter. Onward!

* * *

**The Understudy**

Charlie could have sworn that a miracle had transpired on the hallowed ground of the Quidditch pitch, by the way the celebrations carried on. Charlie had to admit, it was amazing that Gryffindor hadn't been slaughtered owing to their lack of a Keeper - but they took the whole game away with them anyway. She wouldn't say that aloud, because she wouldn't allow herself to pay James Potter such a high compliment. But really, he did deserve it. He was a fantastic flier.

The euphoria over the match lasted well into the following week, and as Charlie and Anna waited in line outsides the Potions classroom, they could hear some enthusiastic Ravenclaws discussing the game animatedly, never mind the fact that they'd lost brutally to a team without a Keeper, and also contemplating the next game, which was between Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

Anna rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't mind," she said quietly. "But we haven't even gotten a break. We were straight back into training." Charlie bit back an exasperated sigh - Anna was keeping the complaining to a minimum today, it appeared. And it hadn't been that long, but she was already fed up she felt like Anna was trying to bore her to death every time she brought it up. She didn't really know what Anna wanted - did she want her to curse out James Potter and blame all the world's problems on him? Because she never did, if that _was _what Anna was after. And it seemed a likely possibility that it was.

"You want to win or not?" asked Charlie meekly.

"Yes, but we won, he could have given us a few days off," Anna moaned.

Charlie wanted to snap at Anna and tell her to stop complaining about everything. But she didn't. She just yanked at the knitted scarf around her neck and hoisted the strap of her bag more firmly on her shoulder.

"He's right behind you," she muttered, with a furtive look around at the boys.

"And I'm supposed to care?" Anna retorted coldly. Charlie wrinkled her nose. "Do you realize that I have to go to practice after classes today?"

"Yes," replied Charlie. "You told me three times."

"And you don't see anything wrong with that at all?"

Charlie shrugged. "He's passionate about it - he wants to win. You're going to hold that against him?" And quite frankly, no there was nothing wrong with that, because Anna had known they would be practising several times a week, and that was what making a commitment to something was all about; she'd known what it entailed when she'd signed up.

"Yes, I am," said Anna defiantly, jutting out her chin. Charlie looked away so that Anna wouldn't see her rolling her eyes. She was already tired of Anna's complaining, and it wasn't even dinnertime yet. She hunched her shoulders, feeling the weight of her thick spell-books in her bag. Anna snapped at the Ravenclaws to quit harping on about something they knew nothing about; Charlie went red, and Fred Weasley sniggered behind her.

Charlie blinked and looked around; Fred grinned at her and tugged at a loose thread of her scarf, unravelling it a little.

"Oh, don't," said Anna, eyeing the scarf. Charlie didn't say anything, just gently tugged the scarf out of his reach and looked the other way.

"Why?" Fred asked, laughing. "Is it a special scarf?" Making Charlie jump, he wheeled in front of her and held up the scarf to inspect it. "What sort of magical properties does it possess?" he said in a gravelly tone, shutting one eye. He tugged at another loose thread, and before Charlie's eyes, there was dozens of loose threads spinning away from one another.

"It was a present," Anna said for her, making Charlie look at her feet. She was tired of Anna speaking for her. Leaving aside whether or not Charlie could speak for herself, she knew that Anna only did it because she loved the sound of her own voice so much, and on days like today, it just drove Charlie crazy.

Anna yanked Fred's hand away from her scarf, and with a small sigh, Charlie tied the threads in knots so that they wouldn't unravel anymore.

"Fred, mate, leave it," said James coolly, his eyebrows raised, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Charlie gaped at him - he was the very one who had bound her legs together when they were in third year, and threatened everybody that if they unjinxed her or told her the counter-curse, he'd hex them every day for the rest of the year, and everybody had actually listened to him. It wasn't until she found Anna, a full three hours later, hiding out in the girls' bathroom so she didn't have to go to class, that the curse was lifted.

It was part of the reason that Charlie never said anything to Anna, or went very harsh on her about her whining or her domineering nature - Anna was the one who had gotten her out of a lot of tight spots that James Potter and Fred Weasley had got her into in the first place. She wasn't about to forget that overnight.

James shrugged his shoulders, and muttered to Fred, "Wait until later, would you? I can't get detention, I've got training and he'll be along any second."

Fred scowled, and Charlie turned away hurriedly. She didn't want to hear their conversation, though they made no effort to lower their voices. "What is it?" said Fred. "You bored of her or something?"

"Maybe I am," said James. "It's not even that, but it's not like you can hex or anything. Pulling at her scarf - really classy."

Fred chuckled. "You got a better idea?"

"Maybe I do," said James lightly, but his tone was laced with exasperation. "I prefer just hexing anything I see, to be honest."

"And that's classy?" Fred hissed back.

"Look, I'm not in the mood, alright?" James said. "I'm up to my eyeballs in homework. And you know how I like to join in the fun."

"Whatever," said Fred sullenly. "As long as you're not bored, it's too much when you see how red she goes, or when she's about to cr-"

"I'm not bored, but not now, alright?" muttered James sharply.

Charlie felt her face heat up like she'd just pressed it up against an erupting volcano, but she was too stunned to tear up. All the same, she bit her lip to fight back any tears that might surface without her knowledge. Those boys - she hated the way she always ended up giving them what they wanted. And she had always known they'd targeted her, to an extent, among others; as James had just said, they did have a nasty habit of cursing anybody who said the wrong thing or in their opinion looked at them the wrong way. But Charlie had long since perfected avoiding them - it was just hard to change the fact that they loved to bully her because everybody involved knew she would do absolutely nothing about.

Anna was glaring at them.

"Anna, don't - " Charlie begun, but Anna had already opened her mouth.

"When will you two ever grow up?" she snapped at them. Rather than looking affronted, they both smirked.

"Well let's see," said James. "Today is Wednesday, right?" he said to Fred, who nodded.

"So that would put us growing up at about . . ." grinned Fred.

"I don't know, two thirty-six on Sunday?" James said, feigning his surprise and excitement.

"It'll be an event, I wouldn't miss it if I were you," remarked Fred.

"Honestly, I hope you both swallow dragon bogies," Anna retorted.

"Is that what made you so sweet?" said Fred.

Anna rolled her eyes, and upon realizing that the Professor had unlocked the door to the Potions classroom, she marched rigidly in, dragging Charlie with her.

"Honestly, Charlie," she said furiously. "You let them walk all over you like a magic carpet."

"I don't," Charlie protested, but she might as well have not spoken at all. Before the words were out of her mouth, James and Fred were sauntering past her. James grinned over his shoulder.

"That's what makes it so fun," he remarked, and what mortified her the most was that he had heard what Anna had said.

Fred grinned at James, almost in awe, Charlie thought, before he gave one last hearty tug at her favourite scarf, which meant more to her than she would have cared to admit after Fred had near destroyed it.

"See you at training, Goldstein," said James cheerfully, tipping an imaginary hat to the two girls.

"Oh, get stuffed, Potter."

The Potions room was in the dungeons, so it was very cold; Charlie hugged her elbows in her attempt to retain some warmth, as she tried to ignore how stung and wounded her insides felt. She wished she could go numb every time they said something to her, taunting her or hexed her. But if that were so, she would have permanently lost the use of her limbs from being numb for too long.

Usually, the boys made it their business to sit as close to Charlie and Anna as possible, sharing a work-table if they could. Thankfully, today they didn't bother. Charlie was grateful. Already she was feeling like her hair was falling out in bunches, and there was only so much she could withstand in a day before the urge to melt her face off would set in. She wasn't invincible; there was only so much they could take.

It wasn't a compliment that she gave to the boys - but they always managed to toe the line, just barely. With a sigh of relief once they had seated themselves at the back of the class, Charlie collapsed into her chair and buried her face in her hands.

XXX

Anna had complained enough about having training every night this week for Charlie to know that Anna would not be joining her for dinner that week. In one way, it was advantageous for Charlie, whose mountain of homework was piling perilously high. But on the other hand, everything seemed so quiet without Anna, and Charlie had to admit that while she wished for it most of the time, it was not something that she was entirely used to. Anna had more flaws than Charlie could count, but for some unfathomable reason beyond either Charlie or Anna's understanding, Charlie still liked to have her around, even if some of the time, it was only as insurance.

Wednesday and Friday were Anna and Charlie's dessert nights - meaning that they allowed each to eat as much and as many dishes as they pleased, and every other night of the week, they would content themselves with one slice of cake or pie, one lemon square, one of whatever was there. And Charlie saw no reason to abandon tradition just because Anna was held up. Besides, from the castle she could see that the Hufflepuffs had now started training - which was peculiar enough, as James generally held long, gruelling training sessions, which Charlie knew all about since Anna's hectic schedule made it difficult to fit in homework, which Charlie received an earful about - so she expected Anna to be along shortly enough.

She was catching a late enough dinner, so the hall was mainly empty. The Ravenclaw table was almost empty, except for a small, tightly knit group of exhausted looking seventh years, and two pale, timid first years who didn't want to look anywhere in case they offended anyone. The Slytherin table was about half full, and every second, loud, raucous shouts and peals of laughter echoed from the table, bouncing off the walls to hit Charlie's eardrums two and three times over. Apart from a small group of third years and some sixth years, Charlie was the only Gryffindor there. She hated to sit at the edge of the table, but tonight she was happy to.

It was not Anna who joined her shortly after she had started her second slice of cake, however. It was James Potter, of all people. He swung himself into the seat opposite her and rested his arms folded on the table. Charlie blinked up.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing," said James, frowning in confusion. He seemed oddly exuberant. He was just plain cheerful, not that usual sort of sadistic pleasure she saw in him. He just seemed to be in high spirits, and she felt woefully out of place.

"Well, what are you about to do?" she asked then, recoiling, dropping her fork.

James snorted. "Honestly, I would have at least thought you could give me some credit and admit that I'm far more intelligent than that. There are four teachers up there, and I'll bet you ten Galleons they're all waiting for me to do something," he told her, nodding his head in the direction of the teachers' table. He blew his dark hair out of his eyes, and surveyed her, not even smirking. Charlie wasn't used to it.

"Well then . . ." Charlie said slowly, uncertain as to how she was supposed to have a civil conversation with this boy. He had certainly never _tried _before. "Can I help you with something?" Her cheeks flushed, and she wondered had she strayed into a dream, where nice James Potters existed, and sat down with her to have pleasant conversations.

"Yes," said James triumphantly, snatching up a fork and stealing a bite of her cake. "You can."

"You need my help?" Charlie said uncertainly, frowning petulantly. Needed her help! She couldn't believe she was hearing things straight. He was expecting her to just leap up and help him the moment he asked, after everything he insisted on doing on a daily basis. She felt her heart began to thud uncomfortably against her ribcage, as she grew apprehensive of whatever it was he was about to ask her. Surely, that did not bode well for her. Once, when she was naïve and innocent enough to believe that everybody could be a good person, all the way back in first year, he had asked her for her help with some Owl Post and a package, which had resulted in a week's worth of detention and a pile of Dungbombs and banned love potions that she didn't know how to explain.

"Well," James said, shrugging. "I don't _need_ anything. Do you mind?" he added, stealing another bite. "I'm starving."

"Go ahead," Charlie said coldly. As if she had a choice in the matter.

"Well, I don't know if you've heard," he began slowly. "I told the team, but Goldstein's still in the showers, she probably hasn't told you yet." She was dying to ask if there was a purpose to his spiel, but she bit her tongue, like she was used to doing. "But anyway, my Keeper's got spattergroit."

Alarmingly fast, her heart slowed and she took a deep breath, relieved she could breathe the free air again without her chest contracting and feeling like she was suffocating, which was custom for when James Potter started to talk to her for more than ten seconds, in what was usually a very condescending and amused manner.

"Oh," she said lightly, unsure whether she should offer her sympathies. Quidditch, of course. What else would James Potter admit he needed somebody else's help for? It was all that boy cared about.

James sighed. "Alright, alright, I know what you want to hear. I know I should have picked you, you out flew Robbins on the day, you're a better flier and I don't know why I didn't choose you, it's probably because I'm an arsehole and mentally deficient," he reeled off. "Satisfied?"

Charlie pressed her lips together. "I . . ." she grimaced. "I never wanted to hear any of that."

"Well, I've said it anyway," said James, rolling his eyes. "And you're a good flier, Alexander. Don't try to tell anybody I said that to you, you'll regret it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Charlie mumbled to her plate.

"But I really need a Keeper, and you're the best shot I've got," James said, in what seemed to be a very sincere tone. Charlie blinked. She wasn't used to the sincerity either. But it was gone in a flash. "Of course, Mark just had to go and get spattergroit, I mean - how thick can you get? And it's completely inconvenient, I'd say he knew that too. And of course, no one bothered to tell me, and the match was nearly a catastrophe. In fact," he went on. "It would have been a complete fiasco if I wasn't such a great Seeker and I didn't have some decent Chasers on the team."

Charlie blinked. That was the James Potter she knew, the arrogant, self-assured, conceited and self-centered wonder-boy who could do everything, and that everybody fell over. "Of course," was all she managed to choke out, as her astonished and terrified brain was still trying to process everything he had said. He liked the sound of his own voice more than Anna did hers.

"So what do you think?" he asked her. Charlie almost smiled, and was very tempted to ask him to put it in writing that he was actually asking for her opinion.

She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again, unsure of how she would phrase this. Worry was bubbling away in the pit of her chest and butterflies were beating tirelessly against the walls of her stomach, dread gnawing away at her from the inside out. Every logical voice was screaming at her frantically to say no, to run away, to go far away, go into hiding, run to Mexico and hope he never found her again.

"I won't make your life any harder, I swear," James said quickly, and for a second, if she looked hard enough, Charlie could have sworn she saw a flicker of desperation in his eyes.

It took her a long time to speak; she was still so astonished, and she was so worried about what he could say to her, she was having trouble regulating her breathing. She knew she should say no, but there was a part of her that brought pause. It was hard to look in his eyes and see the hopeful, pleading look without feeling her resolve waver. Her heart was still thudding, and she felt something that she couldn't really identify, something that made her feel like there was no other option but to say yes.

"I don't see why not," she said musingly, chewing slowly on her cake. "I mean, I," she stuttered. "I don't have much experience. I don't know."

"C'mon, please," said James, grinning to make his plea offhand and casual, like he hoped she wouldn't notice. "You're the best chance I've got." That was the second time he said that.

She swallowed and nodded shakily. "I guess I could. But I've only ever really played before with my family, I don't really feel . . ."

He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear at her in a way she never dreamed she'd witness firsthand. "No worries," he said, and the old James was back, the old arrogant, casual, too-cool for everything James. It was like he was too casually effortlessly cool and authentic for emotions, and his face was back to the same unimpressed, unmoved look he had adopted. It made him look so much older, so much colder. "No worries at all. I can sort that for you."

XXX

In Charlie's opinion, it was abnormally cold for October. Thursday evening brought gale force winds and torrential rain - again. Charlie remembered what her father used to say when there was bad weather at home. He used to pat her on the shoulder and sagely inform her that, in Shakespeare's time, people believed that the weather was awful when ominous and sinister events were taking place. Since then, he had always associated bad weather with evil, and Charlie recalled the memory with a warm fondness as she sat alone in the Gryffindor common room, snug and cosy by the fireplace with a thick book on the Second Wizarding War on her lap.

She missed her father terribly during the year, though when she went home she hardly saw him anymore. He used to dote on her, and there was always the silent understanding between the two that she was his favourite, that she understood him and he did her better than anyone else in their family. She gazed out the window again, which was blurred by the heavy droplets of rain slamming against it like they were trying to force their way inside, and smiled to herself. If something evil was going on right now, she couldn't help but think of Anna down on the Quidditch pitch, who was no doubt being dragged through the muck and the mud.

She and James had agreed that she would be better off starting with the team on Monday, since there was only one more training session before the weekend, and he would have to run over all the plays and moves and tactics with her before she set foot on the pitch, and neither of them would have the time until the weekend. He had also sworn he would 'sort' the problem that the only people she had ever really played with were her family, though he didn't give any more details.

And since she wouldn't be training, she had decided to take her time in figuring out a way to tell Anna her news. She wasn't really entirely sure of how Anna would react. And so, she had begged and pleaded with James not to tell Anna, and after much torment and torturous taunting, he had grudgingly agreed, grumbling about how she was ruining his fun.

Anna slumped into the armchair that Charlie had been saving for her at around eight forty-five, sweating and covered in grime and dirt. "One of these days," she said breathlessly. "I'm going to murder that boy."

"Why?" said Charlie calmly.

"Because he's driving me mental," she exclaimed. "At least he more or less knows what he's talking about. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to tolerate him." Charlie thought to herself that James probably knew a great deal about Quidditch, and a lot more detail than Anna herself knew, though she didn't voice that opinion to Anna.

"Plus, that stupid google-eyed Ravenclaw was hanging around _in our changing room,_" Anna said then. "Fawning over Potter and tripping herself over every word he says."

Charlie blinked at her book, but didn't look up. "Is that a massive problem?" she inquired lightly, wondering why Anna viewed this so sternly.

"Yes, it is," Anna snapped. "It's obscene."

Charlie laughed. "Does it bother you?"

"Yes!" Anna exploded. "Who does he think he is?"

"James Potter," replied Charlie, looking up from her book and shaking her head. "That's exactly the problem." Anna pursed her lips. "I've got to go," said Charlie. "Andrew and I are meant to be doing some cleaning."

Anna nodded. "Just as well, I need to bathe for the next three days."

Charlie laughed softly as she leaped to her feet. "Right, well I'll meet you back here in an hour and a half," she told Anna, just spotting Andrew emerging from the boys' dormitories.

"Alright," Anna agreed, hauling herself painstakingly to her feet. "Alright, lover boy?" she greeted Andrew as she passed him. He gazed after her, perplexed. He seemed to miss that Anna sounded none too pleased as she made that remark, and her expression was sour and mutinous as she walked off, very unimpressed.

"Shall we go then?" he said to Charlie, smiling good-naturedly.

Charlie nodded, and they proceeded to walk in step from the common room. Charlie shoved her hands in her pocket as they took a sharp left.

"He said to get some supplies out of a broom cupboard," Andrew informed her. "He won't be joining us," he added, trying not to smile.

Charlie nodded. "He always was such an affable man." Andrew surveyed her, so intently, eventually Charlie had to grin sheepishly, and ask, "What?", glancing over her shoulder.

"Well," Andrew said slowly. "You say what comes to your mind," he remarked. "I've noticed that. And yet you never stand up to those inbred moronic toerags."

Charlie felt her face flushed and she looked away. "Well, I'm not exactly what you'd call bold at heart. I should really be in another house."

Andrew gazed at her, astonished. "Do you really think so?" he said, looking appalled. She shrugged, and was very thankful when Andrew changed the subject, after he must have realized he'd made her uncomfortable. "So how many hours study are you getting in?"

The OWLs got them all the way down the stairs to the trophy room, which they were assigned to clean. "Broom cupboard," said Andrew, pointing his finger and guiding her down a narrower hallway. Sighing, Charlie resigned to just getting the cleaning over and done with as quickly as possible, and went to extract some supplies so they could get started.

"It's locked," she informed Andrew, yanking on the door a little harder. "Should it be locked?"

He shook his head, perplexed. "One minute," he muttered. "_Alohamora!"_

Smiling up at him, Charlie pulled at the door - immediately it became clear exactly why the door was locked, and immediately she froze.

"Potter, what in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?" Andrew admonished, at the same time that Potter himself yelled, "Oi, occupado!" and brandished his wand.

It was not a completely uncommon occurrence to find James Potter with a girl in a broom cupboard; Charlie blinked a thousand times if she blinked once at the blonde Ravenclaw girl, who was watching the scene unfold quietly as she subtly did up the buttons on her blouse, looking quite put out at being interrupted, and rather liked she hoped no one would notice her redressing. Charlie rolled her eyes.

"Grow up, James," seethed Andrew. "Aren't you a little old for this?"

James grinned. His hair was tousled, and his smile was crooked, and if she didn't know any better, she would have thought he had been drinking. But he had just been high from his . . . activities. "What?" he said in a low voice. "Are you trying to tell me that this is exactly the sort of shenanigans you got up to in second year, when we were all twelve?" he laughed. Andrew sighed exasperatedly. "Oh come on, Wood," said James. "You're not going to take points from your own house, and I'd bloody well pay to see you successfully put me in detention."

Charlie hadn't said anything. At this stage, she didn't think she could. She was almost mesmerized by the blonde Ravenclaw girl, who had actually begun to clung onto James' arm. It was strange. But at the sound of laughter in his voice, she was surprised to find that she was forcing back a smile.

"Just clear off, Potter," Andrew said rigidly.

"Alright, alright," said James, grinning cheekily, throwing up his hands in defence. He glanced back at the girl and grinned; she followed him out, not meeting either of the prefects in the eye. James winked at Charlie as he passed. "See you around."

"What was all that about?" Andrew muttered once they were out of earshot.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Charlie managed to reply dazedly. Her head felt very full again. They set about cleaning, but her mind was back at the broom cupboard. In spite of herself, she wondered what it must be like to be stuck in a broom cupboard with James Potter, in such confined space. All he had to do was wink and flash a grin and he'd have his way.

Her _blouse _was undone, she kept thinking. And up until a week ago, it hadn't appeared that he'd even _known _the girl. He must have been a very good kisser, she thought to herself, wiping away at a Special Award for Services to the School, for her to let him get away with whatever he wanted. Of course, James had a lot of practice, so it was only natural to assume that he _was _a good kisser. He _looked _like he would be, at least, by the shape of his lips and the way he smiled. They _looked _soft, like they'd be nice to kiss, but it wasn't like Charlie could say for sure. And if she _did _kiss James Potter, if Charlie could imagine it, he looked like it -

Andrew snapped her out of her reverie, and with a jolt she realized what she had just been thinking about. Shaking her head like her thoughts would drop out through her ears, she accepting Andrew's hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet, still bewildered by herself.

It wasn't until she got back to the common room that she remembered she still had to tell Anna about the Keeping position, but Anna was nowhere to be found. Charlie went straight to bed, her head still swimming with confusing and bizarre thoughts. She was thankful to be in bed, even if she was still mulling over what had gone through her deranged head while she was in the trophy room. Now, _there _was a new one for her.

She heard Anna stumble up to their dormitory, but she was already half asleep by that time, and she had tried so hard and just barely managed to get this far, she wasn't about to shake herself awake only so she could discuss with Anna something that could wait until morning.

* * *

Review for a feeling of enormous accomplishment and achievement.


	6. Shades of Scarlet

I most certainly do not own Harry Potter or any part of it. In fact, I only barely own any of the OCs. Jo can probably take the credit for those too. In fact, yeah, I own literally nothing. I just put the words in a specific order. Onward!

* * *

**Shades of Scarlet**

"Well, I think it's about time I split up the dynamic duo," snapped Professor Callworth, making James jerk around. "Potter, up the front please. Weasley, beside Ms. Masterson."

"But sir!" both boys protested immediately. Callworth threw up his hands, looking mutinous.

"Now!" he spat. The boys both sighed sullenly; James glumly packed up his bags and moved to the front table, shooting his teacher dark looks. He frowned down his table, dumping his books unceremoniously - well, all over it. An ink bottle fell to the floor and shattered into a million pieces, but James took no notice. Glaring at him, Professor Callworth vanished it just as James slumped into his seat. He stared up coldly as the teacher stared with his mouth in a thin, annoyed line, and then began speaking again.

The only reason he didn't do anything was because his mother kept on warning him to toe the line. Of course, they could handle detentions and silly points, but whenever they wrote home, his mother would act sour for days. The last later had congratulated him a thousand times over for scraping a win - but there at the end, there had been a very clear warning to at least pick his battles if he was going to cause trouble.

And from Callworth's expression, James got the impression that any cheek would not be tolerated at all today.

There was no ink marks or profanities etched and carved into the desk like the one he was used to; it positively reeked of those overachievers he despised so much. They actually paid attention - he deemed that an unauthentic action, and therefore below him. He divided everything into authentic and unauthentic. Quidditch, for one, was authentic, because it was a sport and competitive, and brought out the power-hungry masculine side of everybody, coupled with an overpowering desire to win. It was instinctive, a completely independent human urge or reaction.

"Now that the dream team has decided to act their age," said Professor Callworth loudly.

"Actually sir, I never made that decision," said James lightly, speaking deliberately.

A few girls at the back of the class tittered and grinned up at him. "Oh, shut up, James," his cousin Molly sighed in exasperation, shaking her head at him.

"You shut up, Mol," he said, twisting in his chair. "Live a little."

She rolled her eyes.

"Let's keep family arguments until Christmas, shall we?" said Professor Callworth, his glasses trembling precariously on his nose as he shook with indignation at the disruption James was causing in his class. "You are here to learn."

"Yeah, Mol, we're here to learn," said James imploringly, gazing wide-eyed at his cousin. The same few girls giggled again, but James turned back around, leaning back in his chair and gazing blankly up at the Professor. He sighed to himself - Molly could be so difficult. They spent a lot of time arguing, him and Molly, around Christmas and other family events. They just didn't get on, the pair of them. And there were few people he could really say that about.

"Back to Transfiguration!" the Professor exclaimed, showering James in spit. But the words were only out of his mouth when Charlotte Alexander and Anna Goldstein burst into the room, both panting.

"Sorry, sir," said Anna breathlessly, clutching a stitch in her side.

"We were just with Professor Flitwick," Charlotte explained, brandishing a rather thick scroll of parchment. "He said to give it to you." She stumbled up and handed the Professor the note, while Anna found a seat at the back beside a very started Hufflepuff, and collapsed into it.

"Thank you, Ms. Alexander," said Professor Callworth, taking the note and nodding curtly. "Take your seat."

"But -" Charlotte spluttered, once she had cast her eyes once around the room and realized that James was sitting in her seat. He grinned innocently at her. She went scarlet in the face once she saw him and James knew that the last thing she wanted to do was sit beside him, but all the same, she sat down beside him rigidly.

"Alright?" he grinned.

"Enough, Potter," said Professor Callworth quickly, as he unrolled the note and scanned its contents over his spectacles. Then he glanced up at his class. "Talk amongst yourselves," he muttered, and in a sweeping motion, he had retreated behind his desk in a billow of his robes and sat down, rereading Professor Flitwick's note.

James' curiosity got the better of him. "What's all that about?" James muttered to Charlotte, who was stiff in the shoulders, and looking determinedly in the other direction.

"No idea," she mumbled. She was lying, he knew that. He couldn't explain the strange desire to talk to her; after seeing her face the night before, and how red she went when she saw him, he wanted to see what was going through her head. He couldn't describe what made him want to know in the first place; it seemed oddly important that he heard what she thought.

And he wasn't embarrassed by any means, but for some strange reason, he wanted her to be. He wanted her to think it over a million times and barely look at him for fear that he would see the cogs in her mind working behind her eyes. It was the funniest thing.

James racked his brains for a nasty comment he could throw at her - although her face seemed abnormally red already, he didn't know how much he could make it. Although, he supposed, there was only one way to find out. She fidgeted with the cuff of her robes, and she was biting down on her lip, though James didn't think she had realized she was.

He couldn't think of anything to say that he hadn't already said that week - he and Fred didn't like to recycle. He didn't see much point anyway. It was around then that the noise in the class grew to an alarming level, and James glanced around him.

"Shh!" admonished Professor Callworth, not peeling his eyes away from the parchment. The noise dropped again, and with a huff, James turned back around, kicked his chair back on its hind legs and folded his arms across his chest. He blew his hair out of his eyes with a hypnotic rhythm and clicked his tongue impatiently.

He glanced around him - at Charlotte, her shoulders hunched over like she was frozen solid, gazing in the other direction with her hand over her mouth; at the pair of Slytherins on his left, who were playing a battered game of Reusable Hangman.

"_Don't guess that one!" _it squeaked. "_You guessed that one four turns ago."_

James snorted at it. He half-turned around, to wink at the girls who had been giggling at him earlier. Gemma - the blonde Ravenclaw who had captured his attention - waved up at him flirtatiously, making her friends glare and turn a violent shade of green with jealousy. James grinned with ease back at her, just shadowing a wink.

Then he realized - maybe that was what had Alexander's wand in a knot. He sat straight, plonking the legs of the chair down with a thud followed by a screech. Charlotte jumped and gasped in surprise.

He raised one eyebrow at her, and without a word from either of them, she turned a brilliant shade of crimson again. "Something wrong?" he asked her slowly.

"That's a rather stupid question, isn't it?" Charlotte muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"Touché," James grinned. "Listen, you're not embarrassed, are you?" he said, unable to restrain his sniggering. He was glad that Fred couldn't hear him right now. Fred didn't have much taste; he'd just criticize every aspect of whoever it was they were picking on and have done with it. It was impossible to have a conversation with him around as long as it was with someone he had a habit of antagonizing. James didn't mind though - Fred pulled wise cracks, got some laughs out of everybody.

"Embarrassed?" Charlotte repeated, freezing. "Embarrassed about what?" Her face, quite astonishingly, abruptly drained of colour, like she'd just seen a ghost, and James looked at her dubiously.

His face broke out into a grin. "You know - the broom cupboard?" And then her cheeks went pink again, and she opened and closed her mind like a fish.

"How did you -"

"There's no need to be em-" James continued, cutting himself off. "What?" he said sharply. "How did I what?"

"What?" she breathed, blinking very fast.

"How did I what?" James goaded, grinning malignantly at her. "On your mind, was it?" he grinned then. He didn't know why that pleased him so much - of course, it gave him something to hone in on and feed off of. But there was almost a satisfaction in the admission that she had at least been pondering it.

"Of course not," Charlotte retorted, a little too quickly.

Sighing to himself, James couldn't believe his luck. Surely, there was someone looking out for him, someone who knew how much he was going to enjoy this. "What, feeling left out, Alexander?" he laughed, tugging at a strand of her dark hair. "I know I'm charming, but isn't that borderline masochistic?" Even he had to admit it. It wasn't like they were best friends or anything.

Charlotte stared at him, mouth agape. "You can't be serious!" she hissed. "You can't seriously think, I mean I don't know where you would, and I only meant - and I wasn't -"

"Heavens, you're awfully chatty today," remarked James smoothly. "It's abnormal. I don't like the chatty ones."

Charlotte, to his surprise, raised one eyebrow icily - he felt sheepish for a second, but she didn't try to say anything and defend herself, so a second later, he was back to laughing at her.

"Seriously, Alexander," he muttered, examining his nails disinterestedly. "I don't know if you've ever gotten a good snog before, but don't go getting any funny ideas. You won't be that lucky." She only gaped at him, her eyes wider than Galleons. "Bizarre, innit?" he smirked at her.

"I wasn't," she stammered. He waved a dismissive hand at her.

"Right, sure," he snorted. "I'll try not to tempt you again," he said then. "Strictly private places only, I promise." He smiled falsely sweetly at her, and she seemed to close in on herself, shaking her head. She was redder than the red on the Gryffindor crest on her robes, and fresh tears welled in her eyes. James wrinkled his nose - this whole routine was getting stale.

But this was a new angle on things, that was certain. Back when they were in first year, young and innocent (and admittedly, when Fred and James didn't have such big heads) he was convinced that she had a crush on him. But he supposed that he was convinced that every girl in their year had a crush on him, at one point or another. It was strange that he even recalled that - Alexander and Goldstein hated him and his friends, and there were times when he could hardly blame them.

The bell rang to signify the end of class, Professor Callworth dismissed them immediately, and in another second Fred was at his side.

"I mean it, Alexander," James said quietly. "I'm not just teasing." When she raised her eyebrows, he amended, "Well, I am. But I'm right; I could see it," he muttered. That wasn't a lie either - there was something in her face. Maybe she was jealous because her life was so dreadfully dull. "I'm not being unfair. But don't go getting any jumped up ideas."

Fred threw him a perplexed look; Charlotte bowed her head and hurried away from them. He could see Anna demanding what he had said, Charlotte muttering to her, and then Anna looked around looking absolutely outraged. He grinned and wiggled his fingers at her. She was cursing at him internally, he could tell.

"What the ruddy hell was all that about?" Fred asked.

James chuckled. "Oh, Alexander and Wood walked in on me and Gemma in the broom cupboard," he told Fred. "And Alexander's feeling a bit jealous."

"Right," Fred snorted. "You're more deluded than I thought."

"What's that supposed to mean?" James said sharply.

"The chances of that happening aren't exactly what I'd call fat, James," Fred said matter-of-factly.

James smirked to himself. He wasn't used to even being civil to Charlotte Alexander; it was bizarre enough as it was. But it was within his best interests to be _nice _if he could at the moment. No matter - he'd make up for it eventually.

"I'm serious," continued Fred. "She wouldn't look twice at you if she was paying paid to." "

"Oh boo hoo," said James dryly, a little more snappishly than he'd intended. He hadn't meant for it to sound like that truly annoyed him. Fred looked at him quizzically, and with a jolt, he remembered that he needed to at least treat her politely. He frowned and followed Fred out of the classroom, thinking that he might need some practice with that.

XXX

Yawning and rubbing his tired eyes, James stumbled out of the Great Hall after dinner on Friday evening. Michael and Fred were still deeply immersed in an argument, and James, far from engaged, loped behind them with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Hey look, James!" Michael called over his shoulder. "Isn't that Chambers?"

"Give it a rest, will you?" came the frustrated, flustered bark. James perked up, grinning and catching up with the pair of them, sticking his head in between their shoulders.

"Certainly," he said lightly.

" - As soon as you admit it," added Michael, throwing a knowing look at James.

"Admit what?" protested Fred furiously. James pulled a face at the back of his head and then stared at his feet. It was very clear why Sophie was so important - that was the reason that Michael and James found her so interesting to taunt. Or rather, now it was only Michael. James didn't really feel like it anymore - she was boring and no fun, and there was something about her that made James drastically unimpressed quite recently.

Even still, they all knew why Michael - and _initially _James - had found her so fascinating in the first place. But Fred - Fred was still in denial. And instead of taunting Sophie fruitlessly - which was the tactic that Fred was still utilizing - they had turned their attention to trying to force the truth out of Fred, which James placed much more importance on.

But now James was just plain exasperated - Michael and Fred went about these antics almost daily, and it had gotten plain stale, and James couldn't believe his own disinterest. How Michael - and even Fred - thought this was entertainment was beyond him.

"Hey, Potter, where've you been hiding?" said a voice to his left.

"Well, well, well, Max," grinned James, and he fell back to talk to Max instead, because surely Max would have something better to talk about. James didn't know what it was, but he'd be excited for a few seconds, and then all of a sudden be bored with the conversation between Michael and Fred. In fact, he'd wonder what the hell they were talking about in the first place. It stopped making sense some of the time. "Emerged from under your rock?"

Max shrugged his shoulders modestly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was - ah, occupied," he muttered casually.

"I don't even want to know," laughed James.

"Hey, Freddie," Michael snorted ahead of them. "There's Sophie. Let's go say hi."

Fred looked appalled. "Oh, let her alone," he muttered, going a violent shade of red.

Michael drew out his wand. "What do you think, James? Body-Bind? Or should I just put a Silencing Charm on her?

"Oh, come on," said Max, looking a little revolted. "What did she ever do to you? You don't have to act like you're twelve."

Michael frowned at him. "We were only -"

"Yeah, I know," said Max sharply. "You're always 'only' . . . " He shook his head. "It's pathetic, mate. You need to leave people alone." Michael went red in the face, and Fred went a more brilliant shade of scarlet, and James could see a million things running through their heads- what gave Max the right, why did he think he was so much cooler than them, due to never bothering to do anything to anybody.

James secretly thought that Max _was _cooler, for having his own personality. His reputation was built on the fact that he didn't care whether he had a reputation or not. He reminded James of his cousin Teddy, who he had always aspired to be like. But he never really succeeded - he tended to fail at the sort of effortless way that Teddy had about him. He hated to think it, but he was scared that he would never be like Teddy, or Max for that matter.

Perhaps that was the reason that James liked best to talk to Max; Max was a friend that he more revered than his other friends.

Max glanced at James, who had remained quiet and merely raised his eyebrows. "What about you, Potter?"

James didn't reply.

Michael, sensing the tension, turned back to Fred with a dazzling grin. "So. Anything to confess?"

Fred's mouth was a taut, thin line; despite his quiet, James had to laugh bemusedly at his frustration. "No," he said hotly. "Nothing."

"Well, that's good then," James muttered. "I was rather hoping to ask her out," he said sardonically. Michael laughed loudly; Max raised his eyebrows.

Fred glared. "Fine with me."

"Good then," said James dryly. "Just as long as you don't."

"I don't," said Fred curtly.

"Good then," James repeated, winking at Sophie as he passed. He could think whatever he liked - his actions never reflected what he really thought. He was used to it by now.

XXX

James yawned over his Potions essay, feeling his eyes start to sting. It felt like he had been working on this thing for years, and rather than inching closer to completion, it seemed to be shrinking the longer he stared at it. Shaking his head like he could shake the tiredness out through his ears, he blinked and attacked his essay again with a new found vigour, determined to finish it before the clock struck one in the morning. He was running out of time.

"I'm telling you, mate," he remarked, jerking his head up and gesturing expansively with his hands.

"Watch it!" reproached Fred as James sent his ink bottle flying.

"Sorry," said James. "But if they give us any more homework, I actually think I may literally drown in it."

Glowering at James, Fred took up his saturated essay and began siphoning the ink off with his wand, his face lining in desperation. "I spent three hours on this," he muttered. "And if I can't get this off, you're writing me another."

"Give it to Stevenson," James suggested. Myra Stevenson was the girl they more or less coaxed into doing their homework for them whenever they couldn't, or were too busy. Well, James had only availed of her in third year, when the startling additions to his curriculum had nearly drowned him, and he had had so much to do that he just decided to do nothing instead. Fred, on the other hand, didn't have as easy a time as James did, and relied on Myra a lot more than James would say out loud.

"I tried that," Fred muttered distractedly. "Couldn't find her."

"She's getting better at hide-and-seek, isn't she?" James grinned. A second later, his smile slid slowly from his face and he frowned to himself.

"Speaking of hide-and-seek," Fred said, casting a glance around the common room. "I saw you with Alexander. Why are you talking to her?" Fred asked, trying desperately hard to keep his voice casual.

James took a while before answering. He didn't really understand why Fred disapproved of him even _talking _to the girl. She was a person, after all. They loved to tease her, but it was no fun to tease her on his own, so James didn't see the point. Besides, it was better for him if he was to keep her happy.

That being said, he didn't want to tell French that he had asked Charlotte to play as Keeper. It was embarrassing, if he was going to put in simple terms. They were supposed to like torturing her, not throwing her a bone. And James wasn't about to let Fred get as much out of it as he could until it was absolutely necessary. If he knew, he'd torment _James _as much as he tortured her. And frankly, it was too much fun - James didn't want Fred to think that anything was going to change.

There was something about her that James felt the need to keep to himself.

"I just had to ask her something," he muttered, bending over his essay again.

"Important, was it?" Fred said dryly.

"Yeah, it was," James muttered absentmindedly, only half aware of what he was agreeing to.

He could feel Fred's eyes linger on him for a few seconds; he stared at his essay fixedly, and waited for Fred to huff and recline in his chair. "Let's take a break," he said. "My brain is completely dead."

"Well, we all knew that," murmured James, ducking as Fred expertly aimed a book at his head. Stretching his arms, he sat back in his chair too, resting his head. It was an enormous relief - his limbs were stiff and sore, and his neck was aching, and his back was tense with knots.

"Are they trying to kill us with all this homework?" Fred said incredulously, shuffling bunches of parchment with an appalled expression.

James snorted. "You look just like Uncle Ron," he remarked. "Don't take it so seriously."

Fred scowled, going crimson. "I need good grades, _I _want to be a Healer." James shrugged his shoulders casually. He didn't want Fred to see him rolling his eyes, but he got so worked up a lot of the time, it was actually kind of irritating.

But even he had to agree - the amount of homework they were getting was just overwhelming. He hadn't really decided what he wanted to do - in the back of his mind there was a vague notion of following in his mother's footsteps, but he hadn't given it much thought. But Fred wanted to be a Healer from the first day of fourth year. James wouldn't dream of stopping him, but it did get annoying when Fred got all worked up over school stuff. They were supposed to be cooler than that.

That was why he kept his grades so quiet. Maybe he was just lucky, maybe his siblings were rubbing off on him - but James was very much used to not getting below an 'E', at the very worst. He suspected that it wouldn't be so easy to breeze past his OWLs, but they definitely wouldn't be as much strain as everybody else anticipated. Perhaps he had just spent too much time with Aunt Hermione as a kid.

"Alright," muttered Fred, leaping out his chair. "I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow." James merely grunted, too tired to reply. Shortly after, he followed.

* * *

The end! No just kidding. Thanks for reading - reviews are more than appreciated.


	7. Family Ties

Thank you for all your reviews! ... I own a copy of Harry Potter, does that count? No? Well, I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Family Ties**

Saturday was overcast and cloudy, though at least the cold wasn't perishing. It didn't make much difference to Charlie, who sat in a deserted, secluded corner of the library, bent over a long Ancient Runes assignment. The library was stifling, the sweltering heat made it feel like a potion boiling in there - but still, Charlie struggled on, desperate to finish today so that she could take Sunday for herself.

She glanced out towards the Quidditch pitch. There was no one playing right now, but even the sight of the large iron hoops made her stomach tie in knots. Every time she thought about it, she felt like vomiting. She could feel a swooping sensation in her stomach when she did think about it - but she knew she was scared. She didn't know what she was doing in Gryffindor. She couldn't stand up to anybody - she couldn't even get on a broom without panicking about all the people who would be looking at her.

All that talk about courage - that stupid hat was a lot underrated if you were to ask Charlie.

And she had yet to tell Anna about the situation with the Keeper. Of course, Anna knew there wasn't a Keeper at the moment, since they were currently practising without one. But somehow, Charlie knew that Anna would not react well to the news that Charlie would be joining the team, for whatever reason. Not to mention that she felt she'd still freeze whenever she was flying with someone else. The only person she ever flew with was Katie.

And she was absolutely terrified. Some heart of a lion_ she_ had. If she could, she would have told Potter all this, voiced her concerns in some way. But she was scared that he would laugh at her, make some nasty comment, and throw her in the deep end. She liked to play, and she had the talent in her blood - she supposed - but she didn't know anything about plays or feints or . . . tactics. That was his area of expertise. Well actually, everything was his area of expertise.

But she knew that sooner or later, she was going to have to tell James Potter how nervous she was - if for nothing else, just so he could be prepared when she completely choked. She knew she had no choice anymore.

She was at least grateful that he hadn't spilled to Anna. She had pleaded with him earnestly, and for the first time in forever, it appeared to have gotten through to him. Charlie had given up trying to make sense of that; she focused instead on appreciating that Anna hadn't been told. And it didn't look like James was going to tell her any time soon, which was better for Charlie. However much Anna would flip, it would be three times worse if she heard it from someone else.

She had been staring out the window for quite a long time now; darkness had blanketed the sky and a dim, warm light came from somewhere in the library. They didn't have candles in the library - at least not in the aisles between bookshelves. Too many of the books were too old and their pages too dry - a fire wasn't a problem of course, and could be extinguished immediately - but it didn't help create a calm atmosphere for studying in.

Charlie sighed down at her Ancient Runes homework. She was getting _nowhere. _In fact, she might as well do something useful and write to her parents, as long as she was just sitting there.

The thought had only formed in her head when Andrew nearly toppled into the seat opposite her, freshly showered and grinning ear to ear. "I thought I'd find you here," he announced jovially, earning a few admonishing "Shh!"s and a sizable amount of death glares aimed at the pair of them.

He dropped his voice. "Busy?"

"Not really," replied Charlie, in equally hushed tones. "I wasn't really getting any work done. I was about to write to my parents."

"So . . . I'm not interrupting anything?" he clarified, grinning at her. She shook her head. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, and Charlie blinked, feeling rather awkward. They were close - but usually he wouldn't _seek _her out unless he had something to discuss. It felt quite weird to have him sitting there, apparently very comfortable with himself.

So after a minute, she cleared her throat. "Something wrong?" she prodded.

He glanced up at her, his eyebrows knitting together, and shook his head. "No, no. I just saw you here and thought I'd . . ."

"Stop by?" Charlie finished, smiling to herself nervously. Surely nothing good could come from this. James Potter crossed her mind, and the way he'd laughed at Andrew the other day. It made her cringe internally, although if she was being really honest, it was because of Andrew rather than Potter. She hated when boys tried to say anything really cheesy like that. Flirting. What a silly word.

He grinned. "Something like that," he said lightly. "I was actually looking for Potter." She couldn't stop herself going rigid at the sound of his name out loud, and she blinked. That was never good.

"What were you looking for him for?" Charlie inquired, finally deciding that it was too uncomfortable to just keep staring at each other. She shuffled around a bunch of papers, looking for her quill. Once she located it, she drew out a fresh sheet of parchment.

"Oh, I needed to speak to him about a Quidditch thing," he said. "We're not really supposed to tell people, but if you can keep a secret . . ."

"Oh, that," said Charlie brusquely. She bent low over her parchment, feeling her face heat up.

"How do you know about that?" Andrew said dubiously, narrowing his eyes at me. "They're meant to be keeping it quiet, about Mark and all."

I grimaced awkwardly. "Actually, Potter told me. Didn't say anything about it being a secret though."

Andrew blinked, and Charlie could hear the cogs in his brain whirling a hundred miles a minute. That was it; she'd said it now. There was no going back. And it was strange, but it felt like she'd admitted something a lot worse than agreeing to play Keeper for him. It felt like she was admitting to a secret affair or something. "Why did Potter tell you?" he said in a dangerously dead tone.

Charlie pulled an even grimmer face, feeling her cheeks go a violent shade of crimson. "Well," she stammered. She didn't like the dread in his voice, the incredulity already gleaming in his wide eyes. "He sort of - well, he wants me to fill in for Mark."

"What?" Andrew yelped, his jaw dropping.

_"Shh!"_

They both ducked their heads low. When Andrew spoke again, he did not seem very impressed. "And are you planning on doing it?" _  
_

Charlie blinked at him. "I told him I would," she said, as if that settled it.

Apparently, it didn't. "Well, you'll just have to tell him you can't, won't you?" he said quickly.

Charlie frowned. "And why would I do that?"

"You're not seriously considering it," Andrew reproved, appalled.

"I thought you'd be pleased," said Charlie softly, completely bewildered.

"Charlotte, I really don't think it's a good idea -" he started. Charlie didn't even have the time to correct what he called her.

"Well, I'm not about to bail," she blurted out, and then frowned to herself. She sounded very defensive, and could see it reflected in Andrew's reaction. Now that she agreed, she had a strange sense that she owed him something. There was something about the hopefulness in his face, almost childlike. She saw him for what he really essentially was underneath all that bravado and ego and arrogance - he was just trying to do his best, because he really cared about something. And at his face, she couldn't have said no. And every time she pictured his earnest expression, it sort of justified her decision, which was a strange thing even in itself.

"But Potter will be there," he said slowly, as if Charlie was thick or something. "And weren't you worried he'll tease you?"

"I was," Charlie admitted. "But he teases everybody." That was the truth, at least. "And he promised me he wouldn't."

"And his promises mean something now?" he hissed scathingly, his face completely changed by utter contempt. Charlie wrinkled her nose; she hadn't realized that there was that much bad blood between the two boys.

Andrew sighed. "I just don't think it's a good idea," he said tiredly. Charlie gazed at him. She didn't expect him to react so negatively. _He'd _be there - maybe he didn't want her there. Maybe he didn't want to spend any more time with her than he was already forced to by their prefect duties. She put the thought to the back of her mind - Andrew wasn't like that, he was kind to everybody. He didn't have a malicious thought in his head.

But he was so . . . against the whole idea. Now that she had someone telling her she shouldn't, Charlie felt a little differently about it. Maybe she had something to prove after all. She just hadn't expected Andrew of all people to completely turn on her like that. What was he so afraid of? She could handle it - he'd be there, and so would Anna. And James _had _promised to be civil. And she had seen truth in his eyes - she believed him.

Andrew's eyes were lit up and feverish, darting everywhere alarmingly fast. She didn't say anything more. Whatever his reasons were behind his protestations, he would have already told her if he was ever going to say. She seemed to have put him in a bad mood by this new information though. Still burning with curiosity, she chalked it down to a bad day and didn't question him further. If he ever wanted to tell her, he would. She put the issue to bed in her mind, thinking to herself that whatever it was that he was afraid of, she'd make sure it didn't happen.

It would be months later before Charlie realized why Andrew was so opposed to the idea in the first place. Because he was more perceptive than people gave him credit for. Andrew could see what was there before anyone else realized it.

XXX

Charlie was very grateful that she was not required at practice until after she had learned all the plays and tactics - that conversation with Andrew would have made her first practice quite uncomfortable. Although she had to admit that it was sort of condescending at the start, but she soon realized that he was actually saving her a lot of embarrassment, which quite a turning of the tables.

She trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower by herself, after Andrew had very hurriedly muttered about having to go to practice. Charlie was beyond surprised to find Anna comfortably recumbent on the couch, glaring at a gaggle of third years.

"Anna!" Charlie yelped. Anna didn't even flinch.

"Yes, dear?"

"Shouldn't you be at practice right now?" Charlie said loudly as she stomped over, and sat down on Anna's legs.

"No," Anna replied defiantly. "I'm not going as long as you're not there, it's a travesty."

Charlie's face flushed, but it was dim enough in the common room, so she was lucky enough for Anna not to notice. Besides, Anna was too preoccupied in her own self importance at the minute. "Come on, Anna," said Charlie reproachfully. "That's no excuse to miss practice."

"You're right," replied Anna, squirming her legs to get them out from under Charlie. "But that's the one I'm using. Potter's been driving me crazy."

"And this is new . . . how?" snorted Charlie. She wondered what exactly Anna was expecting - James Potter had a strange aptitude for driving everybody crazy.

Anna was clearly seething to herself; Charlie wasn't even sure that she had heard her question, but Anna just rambled on anyway. "I mean, who does he think he is? He's such a little ladies' man."

"You're realizing this now?" said Charlie, dumbfounded.

"What do you mean?" Anna said sharply.

"Well . . ." Charlie shrugged. "He's always been a heartbreaker." And not the sort of heartbreaker that _Charlie _would associate with him - the break your heart while he's crushing your spirit and stomping on your soul sort of heartbreak - but actual love 'em and leave 'em heartbreak.

Anna shook her head. "He wasn't always such a player."

Charlie snorted. "Actually, yes. He was."

Anna scowled. "Well, it's more annoying now." She wasn't right about that either - Anna had always found it annoying. It was the famous name, she used to insist. Harry Potter's son, what a novelty that would be. But secretly Charlie believed that Anna didn't really give him enough credit. She didn't realize just how charming he could be, when he wanted to be. In one way, she even sort of understood.

"Well, you didn't always hate him," Charlie rationalized. "Why do you care all of a sudden?"

"It's not 'all-of-a-sudden'," said Anna coolly. "I've always been very interested in people with dung for brains. I'd like to study their species."

"What brought this on?" said Charlie, chuckling.

Anna rolled her eyes. "Those third years over there have been gushing about him - _in excruciatingly exquisite detail," _she added, through gritted teeth. "For about the last hour so."

"You wouldn't have to tolerate it if you went to practice," Charlie reminded her. But she cast a furtive glance towards the people Anna had just gestured to. What details could they possibly have?

Anna glared, kicking her legs up and throwing Charlie off the sofa with a loud laugh. "Watch it!" Charlie yelped. "I could have fallen in the fire."

"Relax, you're fine," said Anna flippantly.

Charlie could only roll her eyes - and hoped that the next time she went to practice when James would try to knock her off her broom, Anna wouldn't come crying to her.

XXX

"Come on, boys!" Charlie called to a raucous crowd of second years hanging around beside a Tapestry of a seven-foot tall witch with a dwarf. They were roaring with laughter and high-fiving each other, and rolling her eyes, Charlie couldn't help but wonder what a bunch of twelve-year-olds found so dreadfully funny. "It's fifteen minutes to nine, your curfew's just about up."

They tittered at her and scurried off. Charlie shook her head, and blew strands of her hair out of her eyes. Clearing out the corridors was hard work - the younger students hadn't much respect for prefects, and while the Head Boy and Girl had encouraged taking points or giving detention if they were mistreated, Charlie still wasn't keen to take points from her own house. Besides, they weren't really doing anything wrong. She hoped.

She was doing a full sweep of the seventh floor for her duties tonight - which suited her well, since all she would have to do is slip into the common room when she was done. Anna had promised to wait for her, as both of them had a bucket load of homework to charge their way through before Monday morning, and Sunday simply wouldn't be enough.

By the time she reached the last few rooms, she was only barely checking them. She was exhausted, she just wanted to get to bed - and it was the same thing in every room; completely empty, with the occasional few candles left lighting. She was only sticking her head into most rooms - once she saw the darkness, it was enough for her - she nearly passed over the second last room, and she almost overlooked that there was someone sitting against the wall beside the door, head in her arms. Peeves, the poltergeist, was zooming around the room, cackling to himself, but the girl either didn't notice or simply didn't care. Either way, Charlie was surprised that Peeves wasn't making the situation worse.

It was very clear that this girl was crying.

Charlie sighed to herself - the amount of homework she had to do was starting to burn a hole in her bag back at the common room; even still, she turned on her heel and approached the red-headed girl, recognizing her from her own house.

"Lily?" she said tentatively. The girl glanced up, her eyes red and puffy. "It's Lily, right?" Charlie asked, and Lily nodded dazedly. Smiling warmly, Charlie shut the classroom door quietly, and sat down against the wall beside her.

"Do you remember me?" Charlie asked her, pushing aside her own discomfort. She couldn't walk away from the poor girl.

Lily nodded. "Charlie. Katie's sister."

"That's right," Charlie smiled. "What's the matter?" she asked; she felt stupid just coming out with it like that, but she didn't know how else to phrase it. She had only talked to this kid once before in her life.

"They were making fun of me," Lily mumbled to her knees, her voice thick from crying.

"Who were?" said Charlie very softly.

"Those boys. The second years."

Charlie frowned to herself. "Oh, Lily . . ." she sighed. "What were they saying?"

"They made fun of me, said I was ugly, told me I couldn't do magic," Lily murmured, rubbing fresh flowing tears from her eyes. Charlie's heart nearly broke - Lily was trembling from having cried so much, and though Charlie couldn't remember crying her eyes out over being teased, she knew how horrible it felt. And so did a lot of people.

"Don't pay them any attention," Charlie told her kindly. She didn't know how to make it clear to an eleven-year-old girl that it was simply too much to expect maturity from a bunch of twelve-year-old boys. "I'll put them all in detention, how does that sound?"

Lily smiled weakly, laughing a little.

"Come on, now," said Charlie. "Don't cry." She wiped away a few of Lily's stray tears. "You show me who they are at dinner, and I'll give them all horrible lines," she said reassuringly. Lily nodded numbly.

"Lil?"

Both girls looked up. There was a boy standing in the doorway, who Charlie vaguely recognized. "Where have you been, Lil?"

"Just here," muttered Lily distantly.

"We've been looking for you for ages," said the boy. "We've been getting really worried."

Lily just stared glumly at her knees, sniffling. The boy looked at Charlie inquiringly, probably wondering who the hell she was. She didn't know what to say - he was looking at her for some sort of explanation. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Hi, Al," Lily mumbled after a few seconds, wiping the tear tracks on her cheeks. "This is my brother," she informed Charlie.

"Hi," he nodded at Charlie politely, but he glanced in concern at his sister.

"Oh, hi," said Charlie breathlessly, jumping up. Once Lily had said that this was her brother, she could see it so clearly that she wondered how it hadn't instantly jumped into her head. Because now that she thought about it, he really did look a lot like his older brothers, except he had a pair of startlingly piercing green eyes. The other difference was the kindness in his face, which was probably what put Charlie off in the first place. But they looked rather alike when she left that aside, and looked simply at their faces.

"W-what's going on?" he said apprehensively.

Charlie sighed. "Some of the second years have just been teasing her, she's just a bit -"

Al's face completely changed; for such a balanced and seemingly polite, kind person, he looked positively outraged, fit to punch someone. But he didn't. In fact, when he spoke to Lily, he spoke quite softly. "Oh Lil," he murmured, crouching down and stroking a strand of her fiery red hair. Charlie wrinkled her nose.

"I'll just g-" she started.

"Hold on," Al cut her off quickly. "My brother is gone off to see where she's wandered off it, I should really go get him. D'you think you could -?" He paused, gesturing towards his sister. Charlie nodded - what could she say, _no? _Al smiled gratefully at her and then looked back at his sister.

"Lil?" he said tentatively. "I better go get James before he scours the entire school looking for you, okay?" He stood up, grimacing. "I'll be right back."

Charlie sighed and sat back down next to Lily. "Is James your brother too?" she asked, more to have something to say than anything else. Of course he was, but there was a still a little part of Charlie that hoped Lily would look up in confusion and shake her head, meaning that Charlie wouldn't have to deal with him. Lily nodded slowly. Charlie swallowed.

Al was back imminently, James quick on his heels. He glanced at Charlie and then held out his arms to his sister, who jumped up and hugged him right around the waist, knocking the wind out of him.

"Lily, what in the name of Merlin happened?" he said, in a softer, kinder voice than Charlie had ever heard.

Lily muttered something, but it came out muffled, and James looked at Albus and Charlie for assistance. Charlie stood helplessly, feeling out of place and wanting more than anything to just leave.

She cleared her throat, looking at the ground. "She was being teased by some of the second years," Charlie muttered. "I'll deal with them tomorrow." She took a step towards the door, but James outcry stopped her in her tracks.

"What? Lily, you said that was only once!" He frowned down at his sister. "Forget wands," he burst out. "I am going to rip them apart with my bare hands -" He had detached Lily's arms from around his middle and actually headed for the door; Al held out his arm to stop him.

"C'mon, James, getting yourself in detention _again _isn't going to do any good," he said reasonably.

"My fist begs to differ!" said James.

Al sighed, taking Lily by the elbow. Charlie didn't say anything; she still could scarcely believe she was interrupting this private family discussion. She felt like such an outsider, standing awkwardly at the sideline. Al led Lily out, joking and telling her things to cheer her up. James hovered for a moment, looking at Charlie uncertainly.

"What are you -" He cut himself off, looking dumbfounded.

"I was clearing out the floor," Charlie explained. "Prefect," she added as an explanation, nodding to the badge pinned to the front of her robes. James nodded, swallowing. Charlie felt her cheeks go red, and she racked her brains for something else to say. "I'm going to take care of it tomorrow," she told him awkwardly, pressing her lips together.

James rolled his eyes. "I still think a good punch in the face would be a more effective punishment," he remarked.

Charlie smiled in spite of herself. "And that's why you're not a prefect."

He wrinkled his nose. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "It just makes me so angry; those morons -"

"Doing exactly what you do," Charlie blurted out, before she clapped her hand over her mouth. James gazed at her, astonished. She went brilliantly violet, and looked at her shoes again.

There was a long, painful pause, while James gaped at her, probably trying to make sense of what she had said. She was embarrassed, and his astonishment was nothing compared to her own surprise at her outburst. James eventually shrugged his shoulders, and cleared his throat.

"Well . . . Thanks," he muttered, not meeting her eye. She knew it was painful for him to say it, since it was painful for her to simply hear it. She nodded, and waited for him to say something rude or charm something to do something, or something.

He nodded his head once, and left. Charlie let out a sigh of relief; she wasn't aware that she had been holding her breath. She did a quick scope of the rest of the floor, and escaped to Gryffindor Tower, which was almost deserted. Potter was in the corner, talking with his younger brother. She avoided his eye as she passed, retreating to her dormitory. He had been so _kind _to his little sister, displaying a softness and generosity that Charlie had no idea he possessed. Such a shame, she thought. If only he could act like that all the time. Life would be so much easier.

And when she thought about it, she ran out of breath. They were the spitting image of each other in that moment, the Potter brothers, because their faces were matching expressions of familial concern and kindness, and threw into sharp relief how alike their features were. Not for the first time, Charlie was speechless just thinking about it.

Anna was already snoring by the time she got upstairs. Charlie had to scowl - so much for waiting up for her. The other girls in her dorm chatting with her animatedly for a few minutes once they saw her, and Charlie did her best to think clearly. She was exhausted again. They didn't bother keeping their voice down - Anna would snooze through a hurricane. One by one they retired to bed, until finally, the room was silent, except for light, regular breathing, and Anna's loud snores.

* * *

If you have anything at all to say, I would love to hear it. It's so nice to get feedback, and hard to work unless I get some, so anything you've got, I'm all ears!


	8. Practice Makes Perfect

Disclaimer: I'm not Jo, and it's quite sad. That is all.

* * *

**Practice Makes Perfect**

James laughed out loud, feeling better than he had done in days. He nodded to the first years, who were hanging on to his every word. "Oh yeah, of course I mean it," he said earnestly. "Dumbledore was only joking about the Forest. It's not Forbidden at all, I swear!"

"Potter!" one of the seventh year prefects shrieked. He sniggered and looked up at her innocently.

"What did I do?"

"Stop terrorizing the first years!" she screeched.

"I'm not terrorizing them," James said defensively, grinning cheekily. "I'm advising them."

She folded her arms, scowling. "I banned you from giving out advice to _anyone _about two years ago. Remember that?"

James squinted up at her. "Vaguely," he muttered. Of course he remembered it. He also remembered the _last _time she had caught him giving what he considered was perfectly harmless advice to some second years, at the end of last year. It had resulted in the two of them alone in the broom cupboard - his choice haven of refuge - for almost two hours. Non-stop. He raised one eyebrow at her now, unable to stop himself from smirking at the fond memory.

She scolded him one last time, hit him over the back of his head and walked away. He leaned his elbow over the back of his chair and watched her go appreciatively, before turning back to the first years, who were watching him somewhat fearfully.

He chuckled to himself, though he was mildly offended that he still needed supervising during a free period.

His father always did say he caused as much trouble as his namesakes - and this was the sort of trouble he loved. Disruption in class, corruption of the first years, practical jokes like his Uncle George used to do too. He liked telling the first years about the Forest - forbidden or not, they were all too scared to set foot within ten feet of it. It was just plain funny.

"Hey, James," hissed Fred. He glanced back around, still chuckling bemusedly.

"What?"

"There's Harrison. I owe him a good hex," said Fred, grinning.

James frowned. "For what?"

"He's in Slytherin," Fred replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"So?" James blinked at his cousin, who gaped back at him in bewilderment.

"So - so what?" said Fred, attempting a nervous, confused laugh. "You're the one who tried to feed the giant squid Slytherin-sushi in second year," he reminded James.

"I was thirteen!" James protested, although he had to laugh at the memory. He was so stupid when he was thirteen; he cringed internally, and shook his head at Fred, who wasn't really paying attention anymore. He drew out his wand and aimed it at Harrison. A second later, Harrison was dangling in the air by his ankle. Hurriedly, Fred stowed his wand in his pocket and pretended to be surprised when Harrison let out a yelp. Prefects rushed to his side, and gazed around for the culprit, while one of them whipped out his own wand and planted Harrison firmly on the ground. Fred could barely contain his laughter.

James surveyed the scene for a few seconds, feeling his stomach contract. His hands weren't exactly clean - he had dangled plenty people upside down just for the fun of it. It wasn't what James would have called one of their pranks, and it wasn't a _terribly _regular occurrence, but they had still done it. So why did he feel guilt gnawing away at his stomach _now, _when he was just watching it?

In fact - this had _never _bothered him before. He had hexed whoever he had annoyed, and as Fred had correctly pointed out, he _did _try to push some Slytherins into the lake when he was in second year, claiming he was trying to feed the giant squid. He played practical jokes daily, mouthed off to his teachers, acted cheeky for a laugh from his classmates, done wildly dangerous and reckless things because they were fun and because it was cool. But he had never considered himself _cruel. _

But he had hexed people without provocation, and had _definitely _dangled his fair share of people upside down by their ankles.

He glanced over at his sister, who was among the first years he had been convincing that the forest wasn't forbidden - she hadn't bought it, needless to say. She was too experienced in what James considered to be fun. He had expected her to be quieter, following Saturday night's debacle, but she was smiling brightly and laughing with her friends. Even getting _told off _by one of the prefects - making James proud. He had been worried about her for the last two days. Maybe she couldn't take care of herself. But then he remembered what Alexander had said to him - speaking her mind, something no one was used to witnessing. _Exactly what you do. _Had she really been right?

Frustrated at Fred, and at himself, he shoved himself out of his chair and stalked out of the Great Hall, where they kept them all during a free period during the day.

"Potter, where are you going?" He ignored the prefect, shoving his hands in his pocket.

_What the ruddy hell was wrong with him? _He shook his head, reaching the considerably colder Entrance Hall, trying to mentally slap himself out of it. He had never felt so crummy before, and he didn't even know why he was feeling like that. This would pass, it had to. There was nothing wrong with him - he was just over-thinking it, and angry because Lily had been so upset. Alexander hadn't been _right. _

He just had to stop worrying this into the ground. He was just worried for his sister, and everything seemed so much bigger than it actually was. It wasn't as if he was bad as Charlotte seemed to think he was.

He walked around the school for the remainder of the class period. What did she mean anyway, doing exactly what he did? And what was that precisely? It wasn't as if she had elaborated. In fact, it was if she was being deliberately vague simply to torture him. And yet he was the cruel one? Well, he would just have to ask her. He would have to leave Fred laughing in the background all he liked, and simply walk up to her and force her to explain, so he could stop feeling like he was about to vomit all the time with the guilt gnawing away in his stomach. He couldn't tell that to Fred - even just by looking at how Fred acted, James knew he'd never understand.

By the time the bell signalled the end of that class and the beginning of the next one, after slouching around with his hands shoved in his back pockets, James resolved to ask Charlotte what she thought he did. If he was going to feel this bad about it - he didn't want to _do _it anymore.

He was the first to Transfiguration - which he was positive had never happened before in his entire academic career - and he sat glumly at the back of the class with his head in his hands, thinking harder than he had had to force _himself_ to think in a long time. This was the first thing that hadn't come to him naturally, that he couldn't comprehend fully without even trying.

She walked in eventually, and he jerked up with the intention of asking her right then and there. Then he slouched back in his chair, rolling his eyes. He could ask her about it later, when Wood wasn't following her around like a lapdog, ready to wipe the floor clean for her. He was damn lucky that Wood was a good Quidditch player, because he had nothing else going for him. He wasn't that good-looking, he was an average student, he wasn't funny. All he had was that he was . . . _kind _to girls or something. Like it was charming. James knew better. He knew that Andrew was exactly like the rest of them. And at least _they _were able to admit that they were hormone-crazed, testosterone-driven teenage boy. _  
_

At least that James knew what he was. Or . . . He thought he did. Now he didn't really know for sure.

Fred and Michael joined the class eventually, and Max sat with a girl he'd been trying hard to make fall for him. James stared up at Andrew, ignoring Fred's sniggering, wondering how he could be so fake and so happy at the same time? He kept smiling and staring, making James feel like he wanted to throw up. He was pretentious, and yet he seemed to be the one content with himself.

After a little while, they were set some theory questions to answered, and gloomily James scribbled down hasty answers, not once leaning over to write a fake answer on Fred's parchment, or snigger when he would cross out certain letters in a word to form dirtier ones. Every time he glanced over, Fred and Michael were passing between them a scrap of parchment, filled with comments on Wood and some other girls from the class, but mostly Charlotte. Merlin, maybe they did target her a bit. Maybe she _was _right. After all, James knew that she was an intelligent girl. he just never considered that she knew what she was talking about when she said that to him.

And that was when he decided he would have to do something about it, because he didn't think he could finish his schooling career passing notes about someone who had done nothing wrong in the first place.

XXX

James was presented with such an opportunity after dinner that night, when he realized that Alexander was meant to be attending practice with the rest of the team tomorrow evening, and he had told her nothing, given her not a single detail.

So, putting what Fred and Michael would think in a little box at the back of his head, after dinner he stopped where she was quietly finishing off her dinner, and tapped her shoulder.

"C'mon," he muttered. "Get your broom."

She blinked up at him, and paled; Anna was gazing at the pair of them, her brow knitted.

"What do you need her broom for, y-"

"He just wants to try it out," said Charlotte quickly, dropping her spoon with a clang and getting lightly to her feet. "Thinking of upgrading, you know?" Anna stared. "And I did promise," Charlotte added, grimacing apologetically.

Anna snorted obnoxiously. "Charlie, surely you're not going to -"

"Anna, I _did _promise," said Charlotte, going scarlet. James raised his eyebrows.

"And you don't want me to go with you?" Anna clarified, like she wasn't used to this. She pouted, gazing at James very suspiciously. She looked so angry - James was seized with the urge to tell her that he wasn't stealing her, that she didn't own her best friend, and Charlotte could do whatever she pleased, since she didn't belong to Anna. He didn't bother. He wasn't a peacemaker, and he wasn't about to step his foot in other people's business or friendship. It wasn't all up to him to rescue everything.

"No, it's alright," said Charlotte, embarrassed.

"I'll see you later then," Anna said dubiously, glowering at James. He grinned back at her brilliantly as if she had complimented him, thinking to himself that if looks could kill, he'd have hit the floor.

She fell into step beside him, and the last thing James would have been able to stand was an awkward silence.

"I don't have all night," he told her immediately.

"What exactly are we going to do?" Charlotte asked fearfully.

"Relax," he said coolly. "I'm not _that _bad. We'll just go over a few plays and get you used to people bombarding you."

He expected her to groan at the thought and . . . tremble at least. He could remember the first time that _he _saw a Bludger pelting towards him at breakneck speed. He hadn't admitted it to anybody, but he had been scared. And Alexander wasn't exactly brave; he expected her to flinch and worry. But she didn't look the slightest bit perturbed by the idea.

"I'll get my broom then," she said at the foot of the stairs. He nodded and leaned against the wall, taking in the cool air in the Entrance Hall; it smelled like the night.

There, he thought to himself. He had been nothing but perfectly civil. Hadn't said one bad thing. He'd been practically a gentleman. So what was she thinking? He didn't want to just drop a bomb on her and expect her to answer, but he was dying to know what in the name of Merlin she meant. There was something about her expression, like she was just barely frowning, thinking very hard about something that made her gloomy. James sort of had the odd impression that it would be a crime to disturb her.

"Hello?" He jolted back to reality to find Charlotte frowning at home, her broom hanging from her fingers. "Are we going or not?" She even managed a small smile; he wasn't used to seeing her smile. He realized that he was responsible for making her do the exact opposite a lot of the time. Frowning, feeling a little guilty, James nodded and let her out to the pitch.

The sun was just beginning to set and hung tiredly in the sky, like the clouds were trying to cling onto it for just a few moments longer, when all it wanted to do was slip under the horizon. It rested at a dangerous angle, and James thought that it would be hard to play Quidditch with the sun searing right into their line of sight.

"I think we've got a good team," said James as they walked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But I still think it's just a good idea for you to sort of get to know the pitch and the game as a team player. I don't want to be have to worry about you when we're playing a match."

Charlotte, who was staring at her feet as she walked, laughed softly. "I didn't think you knew how to worry," she remarked.

"Of course I do," said James indignantly. "Quidditch is a very serious business."

"It's only a game," she replied. "There's a lot more serious things that you could worry about."

"Like what?" James drawled, grinning in spite of himself. Maybe she was going to tell him that he was cruel and malevolent, and if he really knew how to worry, he'd worry about being a nicer person.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I think you worry about being who people want you to be."

"What?" said James incredulously, staring at her. She blinked up at him but didn't say anything else. He barely talked to this girl, unless it was to say something nasty. How would _she _know? James shook his head. How she thought she could see all this stuff that wasn't there - it baffled him.

"Sorry," she mumbled, but she was smiling bemusedly. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything." It's not like he could have said the same.

"You didn't," he told her. "At least wait until you know me before you judge me."

Charlotte laughed. "I'm not judging. My whole point is that - _nobody _really knows you at all."

He blinked at her for a few minutes; they had stopped walking. She just glanced around her, at the dimming sunlight fading from the grass, at the gentle sway of the trees, at the tranquilly silent clouds on their way and the inky darkness seeping into the night sky. The first twinklings of stars shone down, winking down at them.

He sighed, shaking his head. "D'you wanna get changed, or would you prefer to do this in a skirt?"

She went pink and grinned. "I'll change, give me two minutes."

James felt better once he was up on a broom. It felt like he had dropped his worries and left them on the ground, and as long as he never had to touch down, he never had to worry about a single thing.

Charlotte was great; she never lost her cool, she saved almost every shot, and it wasn't like James had been going easy on her. She seemed like she was a different person up in the air; she belonged on a broom. James was sure of that.

He went over tactics and plays with her what felt like a hundred times; she picked almost all of them up easily enough and made use of them. By the time they were packing away the trunk under a thick blanket of blank, with stars twinkling away for all to see, James was satisfied.

"That was great," he made sure to tell her. "I think we're going to be in really great shape tomorrow."

To his surprise, her face fell and she bit her lip.

"Or not?" he said then, frowning.

She smiled passively, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, I haven't told Anna yet," she muttered. "And I'm not really sure how I'm going to."

James snorted. "You could always just turn up. I think that delivers a fairly solid message."

She laughed. "And Andrew's not very happy I'm on the team?"

"He's not?" James yelped, his jaw dropping. That didn't seem like Andrew at all. For a start, he wasn't ever unhappy about anything, and he was always so infuriatingly . . . mild. He never got passionate - not ever really happy, not ever really angry. James couldn't imagine him being unhappy. And with Charlotte of all people. He adored the ground she walked on, anybody could see that a mile away. He racked his brains, but he couldn't come to any reasonable conclusion why Andrew would be so unhappy with Charlotte being on the team. In fact, James was bracing himself for Andrew being irritatingly thrilled that she was joining the team, thinking he would be resisting the urge to punch him in the face a lot more than usual.

That just didn't make sense. He wanted to say so, but he didn't really think it was his place. Besides, if she insisted on being so blind, he wasn't going to be the one to open her eyes. He was actually a little intrigued to see whether Andrew Wood would ever be able to be a man and admit how he felt about her. Somehow, James doubted it. Either way, no matter how interesting a human experiment he found it, he wasn't going to be the one to lead them in any direction.

He shrugged it off. "So what's stopping you telling Goldstein?" he asked her.

Charlotte sighed, pushing loose strands of her off her flushed face. "I don't know. Anna likes the spotlight, I guess."

"What?" James snorted. "You don't think she'll take it very well?"

"No, I don't," Charlotte murmured, resorting to staring at her feet again. They reached the Entrance Hall and stopped at the door. Light spilled out onto the steps and crawled along the grass. The blades of grass quivered, disturbed by the light and the wind propelled by the doors creaking open.

"Sure," said James sardonically, after a long pause, just as they started to walk again. "_I'm _the one that no one knows. You can't even tell your best friend the simplest thing."

"And you can?" Charlotte retorted, in an infuriatingly polite voice. She was too like Wood, he thought. He didn't like mild people. People weren't human unless they could feel very passionate. He wanted to see her get angry.

"Yes, I can," he replied defensively.

She raised one eyebrow skeptically.

"Just because I don't _mention _things that I don't think he'll find _relevant,"_ James went on, justifying what they both knew was Fred's complete ignorance to the change in the Quidditch team. James knew how he'd react - and so did Charlotte, he thought - and James knew he wasn't prepared to deal with that. And for that matter, he didn't think Charlotte was either. "Besides," he muttered when he realized that. "I'm just doing _you _a favour. Isn't he on your case enough as it is?"

Charlotte laughed. "Right, because you've done me nothing but favours," she said, smiling. "You haven't exactly been a gem either."

As they stopped at the bottom of the staircase, Charlotte swung herself up on the first step and clung to the banister; James frowned and sighing, he shook his head. "Well, I guess I'll see you at practice. Thanks, Charlotte."

"It's Charlie," she said quickly, and then blinked, stunned at herself.

James rolled his eyes. "I like Charlotte better," he told her.

"It's Charlie," she insisted, going crimson again.

James rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, alright, fine, whatever. G'night."

* * *

The reviews so far have been really amazing, thanks so much to everyone for reading and/or reviewing. It's great to get feedback and it makes it so much easier to write, so if you're enjoying it, or even if you didn't enjoy this or whatever, please let me know, drop me a few words!


	9. Studying

Disclaimer: I'm not Jo, and it's quite sad. That is all.

* * *

**Studying**

"You _are _going to have to tell her, you know," Potter pointed out. Charlie flushed and covered her face with her new Quidditch robes. He grinned with relish. "She'll be here in about ten minutes. What are you going to do then?" he said gleefully, leaning nonchalantly against the door of the locker room.

"I know," said Charlie glumly.

"Well, I think," he amended. "She hasn't been showing up a lot. She's very entitled, isn't she?"

Charlie sighed. "Trust me when I say you really have no idea."

Potter sniffed. "Just because she's annoying, it doesn't mean she's stupid," he pointed out. "So good luck keeping her in the dark." He snorted. Charlie had an image in her mind's eye of Anna's reaction over the breakfast table. She could see her spitting out her pumpkin juice all over herself, and gaping at Charlie. Then she'd probably mouth off and swear and scream until she ran out of steam. It would be even worse if she ruined her waffles in the process.

Charlie sighed. That seemed like a dream right now, compared to the nightmare currently impending on her. Anna was about to walk in, and once she realized that Charlie never said a word, she'd be more furious than telling her over breakfast ever would have made her.

"I'm sorry," Potter continued. "But exactly how healthy it is for you to be scared of your best friend?"

Charlie glanced up. "I'm not - I'm not -" she stammered.

"Alright, let's get a move on!" Andrew entered the locker room, yelling and throwing his arms out expansively. He was beaming ear to ear until he caught sight of James, who was smirking, and Charlie, who had gone red in the face again. "Something wrong?" he faltered, frowning.

"Of course not, Wood," said James curtly. Charlie saw him roll his eyes as he looked away from Andrew; she drew her eyebrows together quizzically, but neither of them caught sight of her. Andrew turned to her with a brilliant smile.

"Hey," he grinned. "I didn't know if you were going to show."

"Why wouldn't I?" Charlie almost squeaked with indignation.

Andrew opened his mouth to say something else -

"Get a move on, Wood," said Potter scathingly. "I'm only allowed book the pitch for a certain amount of time, and I'm not going to have you wasting it for us all," he spat.

Charlie stared, wide-eyed, at this not entirely uncommon display of cruelty - but one that was abnormally aimed so forcefully in Andrew's direction. Andrew, however, glared back. After a few intensely awkward seconds, Andrew turned back to Charlie, smiling softly.

"Listen," he murmured, taking her arm. "I want to apologize for the other day, in the library."

Charlie's lips fell apart in surprise. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see James rolling his eyes and pretending to vomit. Trying to stop her eyebrows furrowing together, she blinked back to Andrew. She felt like just looking at him was like staring into a very bright light, one that made her squirm with discomfort. She wanted to look away before her eyes started to sting.

She could feel her stomach squirming. "D - do - don't worry about it," she stuttered. Andrew's face softened with relief; he let out a deep sigh, grinning genuinely. She wasn't going to pretend like she wasn't offended by Andrew's protestations, but it wasn't as if she ever had the slightest intention of holding it against him.

"Great," said Andrew. "I would hate to think you were angry at me. In fact, I was hoping for just the opposite. I need to -"

"Alright, if we're finished with our cosy little chat," James said loudly, throwing an arm around Andrew's shoulder. It was very clear how ill at ease they both were, glaring through their plastic smiles.

"That's not exactly how I'd describe it," Andrew grumbled.

James snorted, shoving Andrew away from him by his shoulder. "Try again on your own time, lover boy."

Andrew opened his mouth, most likely to spew out another retort, but James had already shoved past him, huffing sulkily.

Charlie blinked, pulling a face at James' retreating back. "Seems to be a little sullen, doesn't he?"

Andrew snorted. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call it 'glum'," he remarked. "He's just a tosser."

Charlie shrugged her shoulders. She knew that Potter was an intelligent person, even if he decided to use that intelligence to torture the lesser or the weaker. But she wouldn't call him a tosser. She would have said he was a bit gloomy.

"You really don't like him, do you?" Charlie muttered.

Andrew shook his head resolutely. "Of course not," he said with conviction, as if Charlie was stupid. "He's a prick down to his core. Can't even describe how much I hate him." He shook his head, spitting on the ground. "And I thought you did too."

Charlie nodded. "He's mean, alright," she muttered. She wasn't getting into a word-war about anything. No matter how much he teased her, she wouldn't badmouth _anybody _the way everybody else did.

"We'd better get going before he throws another temper tantrum," mumbled Andrew. Laughing, Charlie followed him.

XXX

Charlie pretended to be blissfully unaware of Anna glancing up at her from over the top of her book for a few minutes, as she finished off her Care of Magical Creatures assignment. When she had finished the conclusion off nicely and dated it, she sighed, laying down her quill.

"Why didn't you go to practice?" she asked Anna, who wrinkled her nose.

"I was looking for you," she said shrewdly. "I couldn't find you though."

"I took a few hours to myself," replied Charlie smoothly. No matter what James said or thought, she was more than accustomed to smooth lying where Anna was concerned. He was _right _though - in what universe was that okay? She was scared to let her best friend know things like this about her. She had never confided in Anna about a boy she liked, or a fight she'd had with someone else in their year or something. Anna would make a scene and scream about it across the Entrance Hall. And while she loved Anna to death, she felt like her feelings and her problems should be treated with a bit more respect than Anna was prepared to offer.

"With who?" Anna prodded.

"With myself," Charlie said. "Did I not make that clear enough?"

Anna raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Come on, Charlie," she said dryly. "You can't even go to the bathroom by yourself."

"I can too!" protested Charlie, hurt.

Anna just rolled her eyes. "No, you can't. So who were you with?"

"I wasn't with anybody!" insisted Charlie.

"You were!" Anna said, laughing. "What's his name? Why won't you tell me his name?"

"Because he doesn't exist, maybe?" said Charlie disbelievingly, although she went a brilliant shade of crimson.

"Blushing awfully hard over an imaginary lad, aren't we?" said Anna, in what Charlie perceived as a somewhat condescending tone, and she pouted.

"Oh, leave it, Anna," she said reproachfully. "I'm not in the mood."

Anna slammed down her thick book, gaining the pair of them some angry glares from their neighbouring students. Charlie jumped and gazed at her in surprise.

"What is the matter with you?" hissed Anna. "You've been acting very . . . odd."

"_I'm _acting odd?" repeated Charlie incredulously. "Honestly Anna, just because I actually _speak _every now and again, it doesn't mean there's something wrong."

"Yes it does," Anna shot back. "You've been acting _very _strange."

"How?" countered Charlie.

"Well, you've been . . ." Anna cut herself off, frowning at Charlie. But she didn't have to say it. Charlie knew exactly what was wrong. Charlie had never been vague, she had never kept something from Anna, or even simply acted like she had been. She had always been completely honest and open, but at the same time, she had never spoken out. She had never disagreed with Anna, or told her she was wrong, or gone against anything she said or did. In short, she had always caved to what Anna wanted, and had not once, in four long, gruelling years of friendship, stood up for herself.

"Well," Anna spluttered. "Is there anything going on? Don't tell me you've been normal, you haven't."

Charlie wanted to snap that maybe she was just growing up, and finding a voice somewhere. But - true to herself - she didn't. She sighed, glaring at Anna even though she didn't notice, and softly closed the book she had been working out of.

"I'll be right back," she said hoarsely, pushing herself out of her chair. She dragged her chair, causing one of the boys at the nearest table to draw out his wand threateningly.

"Where are you going now?" Anna said loudly.

"To get another book," replied Charlie in a calm voice, rubbing her temples as she turned her back on Anna. No matter how much she loved Anna, sometimes she was so unbearable. She didn't even know how she did it. So much of the time she could be so difficult. In fact, she was getting a lot worse lately. Maybe there was something going on with _her _that Charlie didn't know about. Anna had a lot of boy troubles - mainly because no one could handle Anna - so maybe there was more of that for Charlie to worry about.

Although, Charlie had to admit as she swept through the library, back to the section on magical creatures, that didn't sound like Anna. Anna, in Charlie's opinion, was someone who couldn't keep anything to herself. She needed to tell Charlie everything, not because she loved and trusted Charlie so much, but because she needed to get it out, she needed to be in the centre of everything. She needed Charlie to worry about her; she wanted Charlie's attention, so much that she usurped all of it. Almost all of the time.

Still rubbing down her temples, she headed down between two packed shelves, desperate to hide herself away in there for as long as she could. As she stood, seeking out a book that would give her details of Hinkypunks, she could hear Anna talking - rather loudly.

"Alright, Goldstein?"

"Whether I am or not isn't any of your concern, _Weasley."_

"Alright, keep your hair on."

"Where's your friend?"

"Does it matter, Potter?" Charlie bit her lip, trying to tell herself that she wasn't hurt by that.

"That depends, _Goldstein." _

Charlie waited through the long pause - she rolled her eyes. Were Anna and James really going to have a stare down in the middle of the library?

"She just went to get another book."

"Excellent," came James' confident reply. "Think I'll go say hello."

"Oh, don't bother her, Potter," called Anna. "She's in a foul enough mood without you bugging her!"

Charlie hastily arranged herself to look like she was deeply immersed in finding the book; for a few seconds after James had sauntered down beside her, he just peered in the general direction that she was looking, glancing between her and the shelf. Then he snorted, and she inclined her head to the right.

"Yeah, your relationship seems pretty perfect," he remarked, his eyes flickering to her for her response.

"What are you talking about?" Charlie said quickly as she drew out a very thick book that she could barely hold it was so heavy.

"I told you earlier," said James lightly. "You're scared of her. We heard your little," he snorted. "- _argument. _What _is _his name?" he grinned maliciously, making Charlie flushed.

"Oh, stop," she pleaded. "That's just Anna being Anna."

"Exactly," replied James promptly. "Anna's just being Anna. And you're scared of Anna. You don't _have _to tell her everything."

"I know I don't," Charlie mumbled.

"But she expects you to," James went on. "You don't have to fall into line with her. Stand up to her for a change."

"That's rich," Charlie muttered. But she knew where James was coming from. For a start, he _had _pointed out earlier that she seemed a bit frightened of her own best friend. She was scared to tell her things, because she thought Anna would make fun of her. She was frightened to trust her, because Charlie knew she couldn't. In fact, _she was _scared of what Anna would have to say.

James had been right, and Charlie could easily agree that the conversation that had just transpired between her and Anna had proved that. She wasn't used to this from James - this wasn't rude jabs or fruitless digs, nasty insults for the sake of it. This was a different kind of torment, one far more worrying and more effective. He was pointing out her own flaws, instead of making them up. And he was right in everything he said. And it scared Charlie.

James raised his eyebrows at her; her face burned and she looked away from him, unable to stand there under his gaze. She didn't want him to know that he was right. Even though, Charlie supposed, she probably was.

After a few minutes, he chuckled and turned his head. "Think about it," he muttered.

Charlie sighed.

"So how did you find practice the other day?" he asked.

Stunned, Charlie racked her brains for one - just one! - coherent thought. "I - it was - I don- " she stuttered. "It was fine."

"Yeah?" he grinned.

"Yeah," she nodded. He made it so easy. He was cheerful on a broom even; he gave all the advice in the world, and after the first match debacle, he was very diligent. He was careful with his teammates, took care of them in a way. He made sure everybody knew what they were doing and that they were comfortable doing it. He acted like a _leader, _something Charlie would never have associated with him.

The most encouraging thing was how good he was on a broom. It was like he had been created to sit on a broom, and the broom had been built specifically for him. He could maneuver any which way he liked. He looked so elegant on a broom; he gave off this vibe that he was ecstatic, that he simply belonged there. He seemed to emanate confidence and happiness and . . . well, for a change, goodness. Charlie found that she liked to watch him during practice, she liked to see how he flew. Of course, he was far better than anybody else on the team, but Charlie didn't think that _that _was why she found it so intriguing to observe him.

"Well, good. I'm happy," he said. "Let's keep it that way," he added. "I do think you should think about what I said about Anna though."

Charlie suppressed a groan. This was worse than the outright torture she was so used to being dealt. In a way, she sort of almost missed it. She went scarlet again. He snorted.

"You coming?"

Making faces at the back of his head, Charlie tucked the book into her chest and followed him, red-faced. Anna squinted at the two of them, glaring at Charlie icily as Charlie sat down beside her, setting the book down carefully.

"Interesting discussion?" she asked, one eyebrow quirked.

James sniffed. "Fairly," he commented. "I'll see you at practice," he said to Charlie, nodding.

"Yeah," replied Anna.

"Not you," said James coldly. "You've missed too many. You're off."

Anna's mouth dropped open, Charlie went white in the face and James smiled brilliantly like he had just finished a chocolate cake or been told a piece of particularly good news. Winking and beaming from ear to ear, he nodded his head, chirped, "See you later," and sauntered out, Fred sniggering in his wake.

Charlie fixed her attention on Anna, grimacing. Anna had seemingly gone into shock. She didn't speak for a few minutes. She just stared back at Charlie, becoming more and more red in the face. She was stunned, and for the first time Charlie could remember, speechless.

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Reviews are lovely. If you have thoughts to put in them, that would be nice.


	10. The Feeling Infecting

Disclaimer: No. It's not mine. Hard to believe, huh? Right... Moving on! I certainly do not own any of this, in case my sarcasm was lost in cyberspace! Enjoy (please)!

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**The Feeling Infecting**

James swore profusely when Hufflepuff scored for the fifth time in the last three minutes. He didn't need them to win - they had a startlingly good team this year, and if they slaughtered Slytherin by enough, points difference would put them comfortably in the lead no matter how many matches they lost after to that.

There was a seventh year prefect sitting behind him - she thwacked James over the back of his head when a group of appalled first years turned around to observe him streaming profanities. He swore again and shut himself up.

Fred sniggered at his left. On his right, their cousin Dominique sat glumly with her head in her hands. "Honestly, James," she muttered. "It's only Quidditch."

"Don't give me that," said James scathingly, unable to drag his eyes away from the zooming figures on broomsticks so that he could glare at her. "It matters to some people."

"Used to matter to you before you got a precious boyfriend," muttered Fred.

"Shut up!" shrieked Dominique. "Don't even mention him again."

Both Fred and James burst into peals of laughter. Dominique spent almost all of her time studying, or with her boyfriend, who was a Ravenclaw, or both. And now they had broken up, which was the only reason that James and his friends were graced with her sullen presence. They all knew she didn't have a lot of friends outside the term 'boyfriend', so they let her hang around.

James quit when he saw Dom's eyes fill with water, but Fred kept on chuckling to himself, oblivious to the fact that James had stopped and was looking at him oddly. Dom was also looking at James oddly.

"Something wrong, Potter?" she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

"What makes you say that?" James replied politely. Dominique shrugged her shoulders.

"You're acting . . . _different." _

Fred finally stopped laughing and turned on the pair of them, frowning. "What do you mean, he's different?" He turned to James, smirking. "Unless you've swallowed some of your potion ingredients again," he added, eyeing James up and down. "The last time you did, you didn't p-"

"Alright, thank you!" Dominique cut him off loudly. James shook his head and gazed back up at the game.

"_Slytherin scores, Hufflepuff lead, one hundred and thirty to sixty." _

James frowned to himself, excluding himself from Fred and Dominique's bickering. Fred didn't like Dominique hanging around, James knew that. He thought Dominique was whiny and annoying and self-centered. James didn't agree. Personally, James thought that Fred was describing Dom's older sister, Victoire. Dom was actually a lot more down-to-earth. If anything, being Victoire's sister had reduced her ego, diminished her self esteem, not enlarged it. All the same, Fred didn't like having her around, and she had been subjected to torture from their part in their earlier years, when they were all piled together under one roof for convenience when they needed to be looked after.

In fact, Fred realized from _Dominique _how much he liked the feeling, the idea that tearing everybody down a notch made you feel better and more superior. But now James wasn't thinking like that. Dom had noticed - he had stopped laughing at her the moment he realized that she was upset, something none of them were accustomed to.

This was all Alexander's fault, he thought to himself, forcing his eyes to remain glued to the all important Quidditch match. She'd only said one little bitty thing to him, and this was how much it was affecting him. Now he was feeling guilty for all the times he had taunted his cousin so badly, he'd reduced her to tears. Blimey, what had Charlotte _done? _She never spoke to him - she had never been brave enough to. But she said one little sentence, and it stuck deeper than the countless taunts and throwaway remarks he had shot at her over the years.

He wanted to tell Dominique he was sorry. He didn't think he had ever apologized to anyone before. But then, a second later, Dom was smiling again, cheering when Slytherin scored. And he knew she wasn't mad at him or anything. In fact, when she noticed how quiet James was, she glanced back at him, her brow furrowing.

"You alright?" she asked, laying a bracing hand on his arm.

"Yeah," he muttered, shaking himself out of it. He cast his eyes over the crowds, all staring upwards, rapt with wonder at the game unfolding before them. "I'm fine," he said quietly, craning his neck. There she was, not a care in the world, after being responsible for making James feel so badly for the first time he could remember. Both she and her precious best friend were screaming, both inaudibly and incomprehensibly, at the players, shaking their heads and gesturing expansively. She didn't know. She didn't know what a few little words had done.

Scowling, he sat back, seized with the sudden urge to snap at the first years in front of them, or bitingly mutter something nasty at Alexander as she passed him. He felt so furious. He didn't feel like himself at all.

And he'd have to talk to her at some point - she was still on the team. At least, he presumed she was. He had heard Goldstein at dinner the other day, after he had dismissed her. She was making her best effort to persuade Charlotte to quit the team after she was kicked off. Charlotte hadn't replied, and James hoped that she wasn't about to give in to Anna. Anna couldn't order people around like that. And certainly not her best friend.

And why did he even care? Of course, Charlotte had been quiet at the last practice. He had no idea if she was upset or not over him kicking Anna off the team. But that wasn't his concern. She shouldn't quit just because Anna told her to, and if she did, James would have something to say about it. She couldn't mope around forever. In fact, James had thought that he would be lifting a large weight from her shoulders when Anna left the team. And he didn't understand how she could be so loyal to someone who put herself before everyone else.

It was frustrating to say the least. She must have been worried by Anna at the very least; her abysmal performance at the last practice had been evidence enough of that. He frowned to himself, glancing back up at the sky, which was a murky grey, and the blurs of yellow and green streaking through it. They were playing so well, he couldn't allow his team to suffer.

He glanced down again. If she knew how angry she was making him since the last few weeks, or how _guilty _he was starting to feel, and it was all her fault. "Hey, Freddie," he muttered, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Chambers is looking this way."

Fred jolted upright. When James smirked and quirked one eyebrow, Fred recomposed himself, popping up the collar of his shirt. "Why is she looking over here?"

"Dunno," said James, attempting to sound teasing, but it was too dry and lacklustre to be believable. "Maybe she's wondering what sort of genetic defect you have."

"Funny," Fred said coolly. James shrugged his shoulder, waving boisterously at her. She looked fairly taken aback; Fred hit James on the arm a lot harder than necessary, and James burst into a silent fit of laughter. Now _that, _that he didn't feel guilty about. That was fun, at least. Good, he thought to himself. At least Alexander hadn't made him lose the ability to have fun. Whatever she _had _done, he didn't like it.

"He's - he's gonna get it," said James, clambering to sit upright in his chair. He swore loudly when the Hufflepuff Seeker snatched the snitch. The prefect behind him hit him over the back of his head again, and threatened to give him more lines.

"Bite me," he replied sullenly, quickly recalculating what the league meant for Gryffindor now.

"Watch it, Potter."

Rolling his eyes, James jumped to his feet and joined the swelling crowd slowly filing out of the stadium. They trudged down the steps and out onto the grounds of the castle; Michael came running from somewhere behind him, just catching James' sleeve and tugging on it.

"C'mon," he cajoled, glancing at Fred. "We're going to go talk to Sophie."

"Why?" protested James loudly.

"Because," Michael grinned. "I want to say hi, and you want to talk Quidditch."

James blinked. For the first time he could remember, he wanted to yank his sleeve out of Michael's grasp and snap at him to stop acting so childish. _Blimey, _what the ruddy hell was wrong with him? Maybe he was ill. Maybe that was it, maybe he was physically ill. Or mentally ill. But there was _something _wrong with him, definitely. He was feeling so crummy, and even _Dominique _had noticed a difference.

Well, he'd just have to snap out of it, get back to normal somehow, or else he'd drive himself mental. And things would get tough. There was a reason that he and Fred were on top of the food chain at Hogwarts. And no matter how badly he felt, he didn't have much desire to change that. He _liked _being popular and adored, he _liked _having girls try to smuggle him love potions leading up to Valentine's Day. And he didn't want that to change, why would he?

. . . So why was he feeling so bad about it all? He was he feeling so terrible every time he heard _her _say the same thing over and over again in his head?

_What in the name of Merlin was wrong with him?_

For the first time ever, James felt like a stranger in his own skin. He certainly wasn't himself, allowing Michael to drag him by the sleeve across the grounds to talk to Sophie Chambers, while Fred followed anxiously, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"C'mon," Fred called. "Michael, leave her alone, she didn't -"

"Aww!" Michael pretended to coo, laughing loudly. "Poor Freddie doesn't want to talk to his crush?"

James rolled his eyes, but no one saw him except Dominique, who was trailing along behind them glumly. "Alright, Chambers?" called Michael loudly. Fred went bright red and James rolled his eyes. It wasn't like he hadn't _known _how Fred had felt - but maybe it was something a little more serious than James had initially thought.

Sophie whipped around, frowning when she saw Michael smirking. "Can I help you?" she snorted, eyeing him skeptically.

Michael opened his mouth; the next thing Anna Goldstein was shoving past him crossly. "Shove off," she muttered. "Go terrorize a troll or something. Maybe you'll get what's coming to you."

Charlotte was behind her, gazing peacefully over her shoulder like she couldn't have cared less what was unfurling in front of her. James felt inexplicably angry to see her like that. She couldn't even _see _how angry he was, how confused she'd made him. Now he was feeling so bad, and she didn't notice.

Anna tugged her along, and James scowled. Feeling like punching something, he turned back to Fred and Michael and Sophie, wanting desperately to just feel like himself again. So when Michael opened his big fat mouth again, James grinned and played along.

"Sophie, you know James, right?" he sniggered, gesturing at James. He winked.

She nodded slowly. "And . . ."

"Well, _I thought,_" said Michael sweetly, keeping his eyes fixed on Fred, who was looking murderous. "That there's a Hogsmeade visit next weekend. And well maybe -"

"Alright, that's enough," burst out Fred gruffly, shoving Michael.

"Yeah, Michael," snorted James. "Just leave it."

Fred, swearing under his breath, tried to push Michael ahead of him. Chuckling, Michael resisted. James huffed, shoving his hands in his pocket. He fell into step beside Dominique, who was peering at him peculiarly.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she said, impatiently brushing her hair from her face with an aggravated expression.

"Why?" retorted James.

She shrugged her shoulders. "You're acting very odd, that's all," she mumbled. He blinked.

"Odd," he echoed. She nodded. Clicking his tongue, he looked away. He felt odd, but what was he supposed to do about it?

"Somebody said something to you?" she asked.

"What makes you ask that?" he said quizzically.

She smiled grimly. "Despite what you think, I do know you, James. Words cut deeper than any action with you." James wrinkled his nose. _Words are, in my not so humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic, capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it. _Dad said that all the time. "That's why you use them so harshly," Dominique said lightly, like she was commenting on the weather.

"Hey, hey, James!"

Dominique snorted when Sophie called, and James eyed her up and down suspiciously. After gazing pointedly at Dominique for a few seconds, Sophie seemed to realize she wasn't about to budge, so she smiled at James, flushing. "You fancy that Hogsmeade visit next week?"

James had never been speechless before, not properly speechless. He stammered for a few seconds; he didn't think of Sophie like that. Not at all. Something in his stomach was bugging him, imploring him to tell her that he wasn't interested. But she didn't really give him the chance.

"Perfect!" she exclaimed, and promptly turned on her heel and ran back to her friends.

Dominique and James met each other's gaze with matching expressions, disbelief and confusion, and the feeling of being terribly out of place. Then she snorted again, shaking her head. "This should be interesting."

"Did she just -?"

"Yes," laughed Dominique, patting his shoulder.

James sighed angrily. "Women," he muttered furiously under his breath. Fred and Michael were waiting for him in the Entrance Hall; Fred was busy torturing a third-year with some sort of jinx, having clearly felt the need to vent his frustration on someone innocent. . James' stomach was in knots, and if he didn't figure out why, it would eat him alive.

He needed to get over this. So he swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to laugh along with Fred, who was haughtily exploding with laughter. James ignored the fact that he felt like he wanted to vomit and didn't even know why. He caught a glimpse of Anna Goldstein's disparaging look. Alexander was with her, blinking. His stomach turned over with that sick feeling - he _must _have been ill. He just had to be. It was the only thing that could explain why he was feeling like this, in any case.

Turning his back on the Great Hall, he decided he wasn't going to go another step further until he had seen the nurse, and pushed through the crowds on his way to the hospital wing.

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I was a bit worried about this chapter, and I just love hearing what all my reviewers have to say. So please, feel free to review. By which I mean, try not to leave without reviewing!


	11. At Record Rate

I do not own Harry Potter, except for a copy of the books, which I am very happy I own. I'M A PART OF THE MAGIC.

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**At Record Rate**

For the umpteenth time that day, Charlie had borrowed Anna's pocket mirror, and was scrutinizing her nose carefully, to the stage where Anna had started to refuse to give it to her, and told her to stop being so paranoid. That ruddy Bat Bogey Hex, the person who had invented it had a cruel sense of humour, one evidently shared with Fred Weasley, it appeared.

Although her nose had been transformed back to normal in an instant by the trainee nurse, Charlie was paranoid that all the bats stuck in her nose had forced it out of shape.

It was only lunchtime, and Anna was already fed up. "There's nothing wrong with your nose," she insisted, as Charlie checked her reflection in the back of a spoon.

"Easy for you to say," mumbled Charlie. She glanced up to where Fred was sitting, and upon realizing that he was cackling down at her, she sharply dropped the spoon, and gingerly padded her nose with her fingertips, sighing to herself. "I can't believe he cornered me on the way to the bathroom," she grumbled. It had been one thing for him to hex her - it was an unhealthy habit of his, to hex everything that moved, just because he could. Unfortunately, it appeared that Charlie was in his line of sight an abnormal amount, and he took every advantage of that. No, the worst thing was that he had managed to make her cry.

Of course, she couldn't even see where she was going with all the bats flying inside her nose, so she considered the fact that she hadn't outright bawled quite an achievement. But tears had fallen, which she tried to prevent at every expense when they were around. And that was what hurt more, stung her more when she thought about it.

Anna clicked her tongue, quirking one eyebrow. "I swear, next time I see Potter -" she broke off and brandished her wand menacingly. Charlie blinked, pulling a second lemon square towards her to drown her sorrows in.

"What are you talking about?" she said, spraying crumbs everywhere. "He wasn't even there."

"He wasn't?" said Anna, surprised.

Charlie nodded sagely, swallowing an extra large bite in a hurry. "No, I was rather astonished to find they weren't attached at the hip too," she remarked. "But apparently they're not. Who knew?"

Anna granted her a half forced laugh, pulling a face at the table. "So when are you quitting the team?"

Charlie choked on her lemon square, and surfaced after a few minutes, her eyes still watering. "What are you talking about?"

Anna blinked at her. "Well, you're not staying on the team, are you?"

Charlie gulped, feeling her cheeks heat up. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Anna stuck her chin out, staring at Charlie like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Because he kicked me off!" she yelped. "You're not going to stay, are you?"

Charlie stuttered for a few seconds. "W - well, I was - I th-thought I would."

"Seriously?" said Anna, leaping to her feet.

"But - but I want to stay," said Charlie, in an increasingly small voice. "He didn't kick _me _off."

"He might as well have!" replied Anna hotly, placing her hands on her hips. "You're seriously going to stay?"

Charlie bit her lip, torn between sticking by her best friend, and well, sticking by the team. She couldn't place her finger on what it was, but there was something compelling her to stay on the team. Of course, Anna had brought up the prospect of her quitting before, so she had been somewhat forced to consider it when it was placed in her mind. But she realized that there was something about it - whether it was the team, or the feeling of being up in the air, or the tight-knit relationships between the team members - she wanted to stay. And when Anna suggested - or rather assumed - that she would leave, it made Charlotte feel like vomiting.

She didn't know what it was, but she felt terrible every time Anna said something about it. But not because she was feeling guilty, but because she couldn't do what Anna was asking of her. She wanted desperately to stay, where she felt good and for once, confident.

And she wasn't leaving, not for anything, not even her best friend, no matter how much Anna wanted her to.

Eventually she sighed, ignoring the curious stares from the passing Hufflepuffs. "Yeah, I think I am. I really like it."

"I can't believe this!" Anna said. She had fired up so readily, it was like she had rehearsed it, had been waiting to jump on Charlie's back about this.

Charlie frowned at her sadly. "Well, you're the one who told me to try out in the first place."

"That was when I was on the team!" retorted Anna, her voice humiliatingly loud.

Charlie's cheeks burned. "No, it wasn't," she said, in a small, incredulous voice. "No one was."

"Yes, but I hadn't been kicked off, had I?" muttered Anna glumly.

Charlie ran her hand through her dark hair - it tangled around her fingers and she yanked at it, wrinkling her nose as she looked up at Anna, who stood with her chin jutting out petulantly. "You don't really want me to go, do you?" she said pleadingly.

"You don't really want to stay, do you?" Anna shot back, glaring at her.

"Well, yes," mumbled Charlie apologetically. Without another word, Anna snatched up her bag and stalked away from the table, shoving a poor first year heading the opposite way.

"Try not to take up the entire corridor!"

Charlie's mouth fell open and she tried to communicate her apologies to the first year, who looked about ready to burst into tears. Letting out a tired, frustrated groan, Charlie buried her head in her arms and didn't move until the bell rang, forcing her to move from the Great Hall, laughing at her as she headed to her next class, where she would attempt - and miserably fail - to concentrate.

XXX

Every single fifth year was drowning in the cascade of homework that had been unleashed upon them for the last two months, but with Anna off in a sulk, Charlie was surprised to find that by eight o' clock, she was down to only one essay left. She was sitting in the corner of the common room by herself, her parchment placed carefully on the armrest of her chair to lean on while she finished. Her quill scratched along at a steady rhythm, not having to hover and drip droplets over Charlie's homework every time Charlie would have to pause to attend to Anna.

In fact, without Anna around, it was really remarkable how quickly Charlie had finished her work. She suspected she would have finished even faster had it not been for the commotion in the common room.

"It's not even funny anymore, James," yelled Fred Weasley from the other side of the room.

"Well, you did say you didn't want her," replied James, throwing his hands up in defense, as if to say he'd done nothing. "What do you want me to do?"

As a prefect, Charlie supposed she ought to have put a stop to this, but even the thought of it made her cheeks flush, so she ducked her head low, and continued on with the conclusion of her essay on the new vampire legislation. It really wasn't any of her business anyway, and it wasn't as if she made excuses for herself to look Fred Weasley in the eye when it was entirely avoidable.

"That's not even the point!" bellowed Fred. "You don't even like her!"

"Well, she's the one that asked me to Hogsmeade," replied Potter, sounding very exasperated. "So if you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with her." With that, he swept out of the common room in a huff; Fred was hot on his heels, apparently not finished with their conversation, if you could call it that.

Whispers erupted immediately like a sudden wind billowing through the room. Of course, everyone had heard the story, which had been over the school at a record rate, even for Hogwarts. Charlie supposed that was to be expected, with a big name like Potter. James Potter, the definition of popular, as it were, was taking Sophie Chambers to Hogsmeade, and suddenly every girl in Hogwarts who had hit their teens was suddenly devastated, throwing James baleful, dirty looks when he walked into a room, and then gazing wistfully after him when he left again.

And there was nothing Charlie wanted to talk about less. She loathed talking about her own love life, let alone everybody else's. Every girl in Hogwarts, it seemed, spent their days talking about the best-looking boys and who they were going out with, and how perfect that girl was, and why they weren't that girl. Even after all this time, she had yet to fathom how girls found other people's romantic endeavors so fascinating. Everything was so _public _at Hogwarts, especially when you were a big name or a lady-killer. And James Potter happened to be both.

And that was all anybody could talk about, and it wasn't remotely interesting or significant. Besides, Charlie thought the devastation was somewhat unnecessary at the very least. It wasn't as if it was anything serious. She didn't think anybody could remember a time when it had been. It was like an unwritten law of the universe - James Potter did not kiss the same girl twice.

And all the fretting, all the tears, all for nothing at the end of the day. They all cared too much. By next week, nobody would remember Sophie, and they would all be sobbing over another girl he was going to take out next.

Pleased by the marginally better volume of the common room, and the finishing touch on her Charms questions, Charlie smiled to herself, leaning back in her chair. Her eyes were beginning to sting, and her neck was sore from craning it over her homework for too long, so to relax the muscles in it provided tremendous relief. She could close her eyes for a few minutes and relax.

"Charlie?" came a loud, reproachful voice, which jerked Charlie from her tranquility. Andrew was staring at her, towering right over her.

"'S wrong?" she muttered.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing?" he demanded, trying not to smile in spite of himself.

"Sleeping?" Charlie offered, feeling quite like she'd missed something.

"We're _meant _to be patrolling the corridors, or have you forgotten what that badge stuck to your chest means?" Andrew said, finally breaking and laughing at her fondly.

With a groan, Charlie nearly slid off the seat. "Alright," she mumbled. "I'm going, I'm going."

He offered her his hand to pull her to her feet; she took it with a smile and he heaved her to his feet, shaking his head. "Now would you come on?"

"I'm coming!" said Charlie defensively, following Andrew sheepishly. Andrew checked his watch as she clambered out the portrait hole.

"It's nearly nine," he informed her. "So we can bust anybody still up."

"Why?" replied Charlie, as she straightened her robes industriously, and once the Fat Lady had swung shut behind him, they trudged off to do their rounds of the corridor. "Who's still up?"

"What do you mean?" said Andrew, too quickly.

Charlie raised one eyebrow delicately at him, her elbows crossed firmly across her chest. "Well, did you have anyone particular in mind?"

Andrew shrugged, and took his time answering. Charlie couldn't explain her annoyance, and it was clear from the look on Andrew's face that he was equally as puzzled. Charlie was used to people swooping in to save her. But for some reason, this seemed neither necessary nor appropriate. She blinked up at Andrew.

"Well, I know you don't like them, and since they're out and about . . ." Andrew broke off, throwing her a crooked grin. She tried to make herself feel touched and cared for like she thought she normally would have done.

She sighed. "Look, Andrew," she muttered. "That's not fair. Where were you when Fred decided to hex me? Leave them alone."

And just as the words were out of her mouth, they reached her earshot - the pair of them, still bickering furiously. Andrew and Charlie rounded the corner, and Andrew looked at Charlie beseechingly.

"Oh please, Charlie," he said. "It's ten past nine, I'm allowed to give them detention."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Do whatever you like, just don't do it because you think it'll impress me."

Andrew opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to decide against it. "Oi! Potter, Weasley!" They glanced up, their repugnant expressions both clearly saying that they didn't have a lot of time for the prefect shouting at them.

"What do you want?" muttered Fred viciously.

James, on the other hand, smirked rather oddly, like his brain had been addled by a funny spell, and he was only half there. "Well, what have we got here?"

Fred stared at his best friend, bewildered; he seemed to decide that it was best to play along. "Something you're not sharing with the group, Wood, Alexander?"

Potter scoffed. "At least _some _people can get a bit of privacy around here," he muttered sullenly.

"Don't pretend you don't love it," sneered Fred.

"Are we interrupting something?" asked Charlie meekly. Fred glared at her so ferociously, she shrunk back, hiding behind Andrew's arm.

"You're going to have to take this upstairs," Andrew told them, putting on his best authoritative voice. "It's past hours."

Fred rolled his eyes; James seemed unmoved either way. "I wouldn't mind," Charlie heard Fred mutter to James as they passed. "But she keeps hanging out of your arm, she didn't even like you three days ago."

James shrugged his shoulders, looking thoroughly disinterested. "I'm just that charming. It's a gift and a curse."

Andrew rolled his eyes at their retreating backs, and looked down at Charlie. "See? No detentions. Happy now?"

Charlie opened her mouth to say something, but she thought better of a heated retort. She didn't like conflict. "Let's just get on with it," she said with a sigh.

"Charlie . . ." Andrew started, glancing around.

Charlie smiled. "Since when do you call me Charlie?" she laughed.

"Since you asked me to," he replied innocently. Charlie raised her eyebrows and, bowing her head, shuffled along the corridor.

XXX

Every year, the general consensus on the Halloween Feast was that Hogwarts had outdone itself. And for the first time, Charlie couldn't remember having a worse time. Anna was sitting very far down the table, attacking another pastry with unnecessary fervour.

Charlie sat glumly, sandwiched between two girls from her dormitory, Briony and Talia, both of whom were very nice and sympathetic, and avoided Anna as best they could while sharing a dormitory with her. Charlie suspected they were frightened of her.

Anna sighed. This was all James Potter's fault.

"You can't blame him entirely," said Briony reasonably, and Charlie realized she'd spoken aloud, and flushed a delicate shade of pink.

"Yes, I can," she replied defensively. "Anna won't even talk to me."

Talia cleared her throat. "Anna will be fine in a couple of days."

"She doesn't have the attention span to keep grudges," interjected Briony, smiling tolerantly.

"It's still Potter's fault."

Briony glanced up the table, where James Potter was watching the dancing skeletons with a bored expression. She scoffed disgustedly. "Does Sophie ever let go of his arm?" she said, in what was half-indignant, half-envious.

"No," said Talia matter-of-factly. "He's lost the use in it; she cut off his circulation."

"Looks like Anna isn't the only one in a sulk," remarked Briony, raising her eyebrows at Fred Weasley, who was - for the first time ever - not sitting with his best friend. Briony wasn't the only one to have realized this, Charlie noticed; quite a fair few people were eyeing the two boys suspiciously, like this was news of great turmoil and utmost concern.

Charlie rolled her eyes. She seemed to be the only one not enjoying herself at the spectacular feast - Anna made sure to laugh excessively loudly when someone said something funny, and indulged herself in as much food as she possibly could, as though she was doing it all simply to spite Charlie, who hadn't much of an appetite.

Briony seemed to have realized this. "C'mon, Charlie," she said encouragingly, smiling softly. "Cheer up. Have some cake."

Talia proffered her own opinion, but her mouth was so stuffed with food, it came out so muffled that Charlie couldn't comprehend a single part of it. Briony pulled an incredulous, discerning face at her best friend, who shrugged.

"Come on," she said, turning back to Charlie. "Anna will be fine in a few days, you know how she is."

Talia swallowed with difficulty. "You can come with us until she cools off," she said, patting Charlie's shoulder absently.

"Thanks," muttered Charlie sullenly.

Charlie had never hung around after a feast - usually, Anna and her would rush upstairs to gossip, so full of food that every step was a strain. But Briony and Talia were cheerfully chatting with a pair of fourth year girls in Hufflepuff, so Charlie stood somewhat awkwardly, not really able to partake in the conversation.

She could see Fred Weasley laughing at her from across the Entrance Hall - she had been expecting it almost, from his murderous expression. He was now walking with James, but didn't look very happy about it.

She had half anticipated him to call her name, but she still bit her lip as she whipped around in spite of herself.

"I see Madam Pomfrey fixed your nose," Fred was sniggering, advancing towards Charlie. "Pity. It was such an improvement." James raised his eyebrows behind Fred. Briony looked appalled, her jaw unhinged.

"Come on, Charlie," she said gruffly, clutching Charlie's arm and spinning her around. Fred just spun her back around once he could reach her.

"Maybe I should change it back," he remarked. "Or maybe - "

"Honestly, Weasley, have you nothing better to do?" came a loud, obnoxious voice. Anna was staring at Fred with disgust, leaning over the banister from the stairs.

Charlie's heart leapt and her face lit up. Fred glanced between the pair of girls as he drew his wand. Then James was at his side, had grabbed in arms and was muttering, "Mate, just leave it."

"What?" yelped Fred in a constricted voice, staring at James like he was somebody he didn't even know.

"Just let it go, neither of them did anything," said James in a low, monotonous voice.

"Since when did that make a difference?" Fred said, the ghost of a smile on his face.

James didn't reply - while Charlie stared, he just gave Fred a forceful shove in the other direction, sparing her only a single glance before he followed him, slouching over, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Charlie's mouth fell open and she gazed in shock until they disappeared. Nobody else move - she could feel Briony's hand on her shoulder, shaking her slightly. Talia let out a low whistle to release the tension and turned her attention back to the Hufflepuff girls.

What had just happened there? It was like some invisible, silent wind had thundered through the hall and engulfed her in a new sort of emotion that she wasn't used to. She felt like she was being watched secretly; every part of her tingled oddly, and she felt strangely out of place. Blinking, she looked around and snapped herself out of it.

She looked back up at Anna, who was staring at her curiously. But once Charlie met her eyes, she turned up her nose and humphed before she flounced up the stairs, her feet furiously pounding each step as she did.

It didn't seem to matter about a common enemy, or that Anna had stuck up for Charlie even when she was mad at her. Anna couldn't bear letting go an opportunity to shout at Fred Weasley, Charlie thought to herself, still trying to shake that curiously funny feeling off her as she clambered up the stairs. But it didn't change anything.

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Reviews are scarce and I understand that people are busy, but I really would love to hear some thoughts on this chapter! They'd make my life. Yeah, I'd like reviews. Thanks for reading anyway!


	12. Beater Bludgeoned

Sorry for the long wait - I've been very ill, and I'm currently still in the hospital and everything's a bit crazy. But wow guys, those reviews. They were just amazing, so thank you to everybody for reviewing. It was an especially good treat while I'm still in hospital, so they were great. Anyway, I don't own Harry Potter!

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**Beater Bludgeoned**

James trudged slowly towards the Quidditch pitch. His team was in shatters. Well, not literally, but it might as well have been. He had a Keeper who was constantly being ordered to quit the team, a new Beater who was so enthusiastic it almost hurt James' head to look at him, three Chasers who were skeptical about everything that was going on to the point that they hardly cooperated. And him - but there was nothing wrong from his end of things.

He twirled his wand over and over again between his fingers, in deep thought as he took the long, seldom travelled route to the pitch.

He knew that the inevitability of going to practice lay at the end of his journey, though he tried his best to delay it as much as possible. He had worked _so _hard. Ever since he'd come to Hogwarts, and probably some time before that, Quidditch was all he cared about. And there was certain things it came hand in hand with, like seeming cool and looking popular. But at the root of it all laid Quidditch.

And he couldn't let a team in shreds ruin his chances. He had worked too hard, he wanted it too badly. It was something he had been able to talk to his father about, something they could both delight in. James' father was a very busy man, and it was so great to see him get enthusiastic over something James was doing in the way he did. Lily liked to play too, but it didn't dictate her life like it did James. Quidditch was the one thing he really had to himself and his parents, especially his father.

And he wasn't going to go screw it up by leading the worst team Gryffindor had had in a long while.

So, filled with new found resolve and motivation, he hurried down to the pitch, vowing to himself that this would be a good practice.

He was usually the first one there, so to hear voices coming from the changing room was somewhat abnormal, but once he realized who was talking, James grinned to himself and strolled right in, smirking at Andrew Wood. How many times had he tried this - and how many times had he yet to try it?

"On your own time, Wood," he snorted. "It's not going to interfere with my practice. Alright, Alexander?" Charlotte glanced up at him from behind Andrew, perplexed. He shrugged his shoulders, as if demanding what he had done wrong. Andrew was visibly fuming like a potion about to boil over.

"Potter, I swear, one of these days, I'll take that pretty face of yours and -"

James threw up his hands. "Mate, I'm flattered, honestly. I don't really swing that way, though."

Charlotte tried to stifle a snort, and didn't really manage it. He winked at Andrew because he knew it would infuriate him, and then looked back at Charlotte. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Umm . . ." Her eyes widened and she pulled a face at him. He rolled his eyes.

"Relax," he said coolly. "I actually have something to discuss."

She eyed the wand in his hands shrewdly. He rolled his eyes again, more prominently. "I'm not going to hex you," he said soothingly. "Just for a second." He beckoned for her to follow him, and she did, although apprehensively.

"Listen," he said, jumping straight to the point. "I want to talk to you about Anna."

"Anna?" repeated Charlotte confusedly, though if James had to put one word on her expression, he would have called it relief.

"Yeah, look," he sighed. "I know she's putting a lot of pressure on you." He was watching her face carefully, but she didn't move a muscle. "But - and if you say this to anyone, I will make you pay until the day you die - but you're a good Keeper." She just blinked, not surprised or confused or scared or anything. "So . . . please don't listen to her?"

Charlotte cleared her throat. "Is that it?"

"What do you mean 'is that it'?" he said quickly. "What more is there?"

Charlotte frowned at the ground. "Not sure," she muttered. "That's fine then. Can I go?"

James grunted in response. Her shoulders were hunched and she was gazing at him in apprehension, her eyebrows arched in the centre. Then she spun on her heel and left, probably before James could say something she didn't to hear. He didn't bother. He couldn't really think of anything to say to her that he hadn't touched on before.

James followed her and pulled his robes over his head. He grabbed his broom and, when he turned around, Andrew was right in front of him, glowering maliciously.

"Can I help you with something?" said James coolly. "Or have you forgotten how to play?"

"Look," he hissed, glancing over his shoulder surreptitiously. "Do you have to get in my way every single time?"

"What are you talking about?" said James, in his best cool, uninterested voice.

"Her, that's what I'm talking about," replied Andrew. His hand was raised, almost as if he was going to hit James. James couldn't help but smirk.

"Really?" said James, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, really," muttered Andrew. James couldn't fight back his laughter - the girls, who were talking amongst themselves - looked up in bewilderment.

"Look, mate," said James, still chuckling. "Your love life is not my responsibility. Time to man up, don't you think?" He patted Andrew's shoulders and shoved past him. He couldn't see what the big deal was.

In fact, he spent most of practice trying to work out _exactly _what the big deal was. She didn't smile any brighter than the other girls on the team, she didn't make any more jokes than anybody else did. There was nothing special about her, unless you counted how dependent she was on her best friend as something special. In fact, she couldn't even speak up for herself. Not once had she ever barked a retort at him, or even told him to leave her alone.

So what in the name of Merlin did Andrew see in her? Alexander was ordinary.

. . . _So why did it bother him so much? _

Andrew was, in James' most accurate and delicate words, a complete tool. It made sense that James didn't want to see the idiot get what he wanted. And Andrew Wood's happiness was very very far down James' wishlist. But it was so _irksome _to see him even trying. And James wasn't supposed to care who tried what.

Twice, while he scoured the pitch for the Snitch, he had to duck to avoid a lethal hit from his new beater, Bobby Fenwick, whose tactic seemed to be to swing his bat wildly in case it came into contact with something. And James had realized that it was most likely that it would come into contact with one of his other players before it hit a Bludger.

It had never taken him so long to find a Snitch; his head was so full, and he was so preoccupied with keeping an eye on Bobby that it slipped right under his nose several times. It seemed like an age before he was streaking after it with some sense of purpose, but after only a few seconds, he pulled himself up and wheeled right around, like a sixth sense was telling him what was about to happen.

He didn't see much; all he saw was Bobby wielding his bat perilously, and a second later, it had collided full on with Charlotte's nose, and she lowered herself to the ground slowly, dripping blood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Snitch flit up in the air above the stadium as he rocketed towards the two figures. Bobby had flown down and was standing awkwardly. James landed and clambered off his broom, casting it away.

Bloody great, he thought to himself. This was all his team needed.

And that was when he caught a glimpse of what Andrew _did _see in her. Her eyes were unfocused and she looked dazed and ghostly pale, and while at the forefront of James' mind was the worry that she was about to pass out any second, there was a little part at the back of his brain that was realizing what Andrew saw when he looked at her. Even though she had just been hit in the head, when she looked up, there was a twinkle in her eyes that he wasn't used to seeing.

She clutched at her nose, and James could see blood starting to seep out from under her fingers. Sighing, he glanced disparagingly at Bobby, and crouched down so that he was level with her.

"Charlotte?" he said tentatively. She grunted, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Come on," he muttered, clutching her arms and pulling her to her feet. "You alright?" He let go of her cautiously, careful to make sure she wouldn't fall over.

She shook her head, apparently in too much pain to speak. She tried to stem the blood gushing from her nose with her sleeve. Grace landed and threw her broom away at James' right.

"Merlin, she's pale, isn't she?" Grace remarked, shaking her head.

"What am I supposed to do?" James hissed. Grace raised an eyebrow at him, and then looked worriedly back at Charlotte, who was swaying precariously. Grace shrugged her shoulders helplessly, but when Charlotte lost her balance, Grace gave his shoulder a violent shove and he caught her arms.

"Right, well, should we take her to see Madam Pomfrey?" Grace suggested.

"I don't know if she can walk," replied James.

"Well, what then?" spat Grace. "We just wait until she passes out."

"Can we get her on a broom?" asked James.

"Don't be ridiculous," retorted Grace curtly. "She can't stand, I'm not putting her on a broom." James rolled his eyes. "I think her nose is broken," Grace muttered worriedly.

"I can fix that, if she'll let me," James said, glancing down at her.

"Okay, okay," James muttered to himself, attempting to check if her eyes were still open, though she was leaning the other way. "Bobby," he yelled. "You're not allowed touch a bat when anybody else is around. From now on."

Grace announced she'd go get the Trainee Nurse to come down and make sure Charlotte was alright.

"Alright," said James. "I'll just . . . wait here, shall I?" Charlotte let out a little moan and rested her forehead on his chest; Grace was gone, and James paused, staring down at her. She didn't seem to care that it was him holding her up, if she was even aware of that fact. She just gripped onto his shoulders like she was going to die if she didn't. It was a strange thing, and James couldn't help but wonder what Fred would think if he saw them. She glanced up at him; he could see a red blotch on her forehead. He could feel the blood rising to colour his throat and cheeks, and he cleared his throat hastily.

"Charlotte, do you - do you want to sit down or something?" he mumbled, glancing around him. Bobby had gone with Grace, and the other players were just spectating from up by the goalposts. She nodded numbly, and carefully she sat down, holding onto his shoulder until she was safely on the ground, resting her forehead on her knees.

She let go of his shoulder and he felt an electric shock go up his arm. He bit back his swears and frowned as he sat down beside her. It was a strange feeling, like all of a sudden there was something missing. Like she had taken something away from him. His arm hurt and Andrew decided to saunter over, his eyebrows raised.

"Everything alright?" he asked shrewdly.

Swallowing, James nodded. "Fine," replied James quietly, rubbing his arm. She had some grip for someone who was half-conscious, he thought to himself. He could still feel her fingers clutching into his skin, and his shoulder was starting to get sore.

"I'll sit with her, you go," said Andrew forcefully. James threw up his hands, feeling too drained to try and argue with Wood like he would have done on any other occasion. He just wanted to go back to the common room and fall asleep in the armchair. His head was starting to hurt from thinking too hard.

"Show me your nose," he muttered to Charlie, who held up her face, still feeling her nose gingerly. "_Episkey." _It didn't do much for the dried blood, which James didn't know how to get rid of, but she looked more relieved now.

The others were leaving, and he shouldered his broom and left too, glancing over his shoulder at Wood, who was leaning over to speak in Charlotte's ear. He rolled his eyes.

The common room was warm and toasty, compared to the unusually bitterly cold wind November brought with it.

"Hey, Potter!" called Max from the fire. He was entwined around a very pretty girl in fifth year on the armchair, and James didn't really feel like sitting opposite them and being subjected to their displays of their ignorance of other people. But he walked over at the sound of his name, raising his eyebrows, but made sure not to sit down.

"There's a letter there for you, and a parcel" he said, nodding towards the coffee table. "It was dropped off by the funniest looking bird I've ever seen, it was like a rainbow was delivering the post," Max remarked, making the girl giggle. James fought his gag reflex. "I dunno why it didn't come tomorrow, but looks like a birthday card to me."

James nodded, picking up the letter, which was heavier than he expected. "Did you lose a Snitch today?" Max asked. "I could have sworn I saw one go past the window a few minutes ago."

James nodded absently, trying to decipher the handwriting on the envelope. "Yeah, my Keeper got practically bludgeoned at practice, I was a little preoccupied. "

"Blimey," said Max. "Is she alright?"

"Think so," replied James, still staring at the letter curiously. He didn't want to open it in the common room, if the weight and the bird Max had described was anything to go by. He thought that the parcel looked like a book, and he racked his brain trying to think who would send him _a book. _Aunt Hermione maybe . . . "Wood insisted on taking care of her," he added, scowling.

"Alexander, is it?" asked Max. James nodded. "Huh. I like her. You should tell her not to fall for Wood, he's a tool."

"Why would I tell her that?" murmured James, finally looking up. He looked at the girl and grimaced; she was trailing her fingers up his neck, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes and snap at her.

"Dunno," muttered Max distractedly. "I like her," he said again. "She's a good-looking girl, isn't she?"

James glanced up, taken aback. "I guess," he shrugged, after considering it for a moment. Clearly Andrew Wood thought so. "Right, I'll be upstairs," he announced, once the girl had let out a little groan to get Max's attention.

He met Sophie on his way to the dormitory.

"Is Charlie okay?" she asked, blinking up at him innocently.

"Wha - yeah, she's fine," he told her. "I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will fix her up in no time. I fixed her nose, so . . ." He trailed off, glancing around him for any escape route or distraction. She was staring at him so blazingly, it was making him self-conscious, and he thought that if she kept doing it for much longer, he'd spontaneously combust.

She grabbed both his hands and swung them. He had his parcel tucked under his arm - when she yanked at his hands, it tumbled to the floor, but she didn't even notice. Alarm bells set off in his head and his heart was thudding with panic and shock and pure horror, and he looked around him. "So, I know it's your birthday tomorrow," she said slowly.

"You do," he said blankly, gulping. She looked sort of wild and demented, with her eyes so wide James doubted she would ever blinked again.

"Of course I do, silly," she laughed. "So what would you like to do?"

James stuttered for a minute, completely flabbergasted. "Well, I didn't - I mean, my friends and I were just going to - I don't know," he finished lamely, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"A surprise," she supplied, smirking at him. Rather than exciting him, he wanted to back away and preferably change his name and never set foot in Britain again.

"Alright," said James, attempting to brush the way she was looking at him over her shoulder. "Well, I'm gonna go upstairs, I'm pretty beat and -"

Before he could say another word, she'd grabbed his neck and kissed him, like he was the air and she was suffocating. Instinctively, he pulled away almost immediately, looking around for Fred. Thankfully, he wasn't there.

"Right, see you later," he muttered, looking anywhere but Sophie's face. He scooped up the parcel and dashed up the staircase before she could say anything else, and once he was there, he collapsed face down onto his bed, feeling like he couldn't take enough showers to get what had just happened off of him.

He was going to have to do something about her, it was becoming clear. Besides, Fred would kill him if he'd just seen - but it wasn't exactly James' fault. And, James grudgingly thought to himself, Fred should be used to girls just throwing themselves at James. However, he didn't really _like _Sophie in that way, and it wasn't worth fighting with Fred over it. Not by a long shot. Especially considering he'd just end up getting his own nose broken.

Shivering at the thought, he turned his attention back to the heavy letter.

The envelope contained several bits and pieces. There was a credit certificate for the Quidditch Supplies shop in Hogsmeade, there was a birthday card that had several voices screaming "Happy Birthday!" at him. Even when it was closed, they pounded at the edges, demanding to be allowed out and scream some more. There were two books - one on Quidditch, and the other was something about charming witches or something. There was also a letter, and finally James realized who it was from.

He grinned to himself. If he could wish for any older brother in the universe, it would have been Teddy Lupin. He spent most of his childhood trying to be exactly like Teddy, and well, old habits died hard.

_Dear James, _

_Happy early birthday! I would have sent more, but the bird wouldn't take anymore, and I don't have all the money in the world, kiddo! The bird was pretty cool, wasn't it? I thought it was a lot more interesting than an owl anyway. That's why I like the tropics, they have all these mental things. Things at home get so boring. _

_Anyway, happy birthday, kid! Sixteen now. It scares me actually, to be quite honest. I remember when you were born, and when you were a lot younger. And you used to follow me around, and I didn't have a clue why! Anyway, it seems weird to think about it, since now I almost miss having you follow me around. I don't miss you repeating everything I say, though. To be perfectly honest, I didn't really appreciate that. _

_The book was a present from your dad, but I dunno if he'd approve of me gifting it to his son, so keep it on the down low. I've also ordered a massive package from Honeydukes, it should be there soon. _

_It's pretty nice here. I still haven't found exactly what I'm looking for yet. I expect it'll get easier when I figure out what it is I'm looking for. _

_I'll be back in the country for a few days - I'm smuggling in some exotic creatures for Hagrid - don't tell the Headmaster! So I figured I'd come and say hi to you and Al, maybe have some dinner or something. I was thinking about sitting in on a Care of Magical Creatures lesson too, if I can. I'll only be there for a day or two, and then I'm heading off to Egypt. Or maybe Greece. Or New Zealand. Haven't decided yet. _

_Anyway, I'd better wrap this up! Have a great birthday, and I'll see you soon, _

_Hope the Quidditch is going well!_

_Your favourite cousin (and don't deny it!) _

_Teddy_

__James smiled, looking forward to telling Al who they would be getting a visit from. He laid back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. It had just been one of those days. But at least it had ended, literally, on a good note.

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Happy Christmas, everybody! Anyway, yikes this took a ridiculously long time and went ridiculously badly, really sorry about. Tell me how to make it better! Also, I'm looking to get back in the swing of things, so if you've got anything you'd like me to review, go ahead and PM me. Consider it a Christmas present!


	13. Party Season

Some of you may have noticed already, and I wish to confirm the rumours that I do not, in fact, own Harry Potter. It is unfortunate, but very true. So this is purely for fun. Some of it had to be cut up into little slivers, which I couldn't really do anything about! Please excuse me and my dreadful technique!

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**Party Season**

"I still think breaking it was an improvement!"

Charlie bit her lip and dragged another piece of tart towards her. The shouts and jeers carried down the table, egged on by bystanders sniggering and glancing down at her. That wasn't what was worrying her. She had learned a long time ago that if someone with a big ego and an even bigger reputation stood up and said something that they thought was funny, everybody would laugh. Unless they were at the receiving end of things, people were just like sheep following the crowd. It wasn't as if she blamed them or anything. _They _hadn't said anything.

No, what was worrying her was the fact that there seemed to be a pattern developing with those boys that involved injuries to her nose. Although, she couldn't necessarily blame Potter for having her nose broken at practice. And he _had _been kind enough to heal it for her - _and just where had he learned how to do that anyway? - _but she suspected that that was just as much to save his own skin.

"Ignore them, Charlie," said Talia, shooting her most offended look up the table at them.

"W-what?" Charlie jumped and glanced up at Briony and Talia. "Oh, I don't mind. Not really."

"You don't?" demanded Briony, looking horrified.

"No," Anna interjected as she passed, sticking her head in between Briony's and Charlie's. "Because all she knows how to do is to lie down and take it."

Charlie frowned at her lap. Anna waited for a fraction of a second before moving on, scowling at the floor as if it had personally offended her. Briony and Talia seemed shocked into silence; they glanced meaningfully at each other but said nothing. Talia patted Charlie's back absentmindedly. Charlie shovelled the tart around her golden platter, suddenly of the notion that if she ate one more bite of anything, she'd be sick.

Sunday had brought a gloomy air with it, and the bewitched ceiling was a dark, murky grey that threatened rain and rumbled warningly. It seemed to Charlie that it wasn't really a day to have a party, though one was planned for after dinner. Bloody Potter and his stupid birthday. Did no one realize that not everybody's primary concern was celebrating the most narcissistic, egotistical dunghead on the planet.

"Come on," said Briony kindly. "Hopefully the cake won't explode like it did last year." Charlie managed a weak smile and followed her meekly. She knew that Briony had chosen her words carefully, since last year the cake she was talking about incidentally exploded over Charlie's head. Potter had thought it was the best birthday present he'd ever gotten.

Hopefully she could escape to the quiet of her dormitory without any damage done.

Fred Weasley - as it seemed - had other plans. The moment she had dragged herself through the portrait hole, he had waltzed over and took her by the wrist, laughing loudly. "How about an encore from last year, Alexander?" he yelled. A few people laughed, but most people were talking or sharing some Butterbeer or eating, and not paying attention.

Briony followed, her mouth open to protest. "We didn't get a cake this year," Fred said loudly, while Charlie tugged her hand out of his grasp. "Last year's didn't taste so good."

Michael stumbled over, clutching some Firewhiskey. His mouth fell open when he saw Charlotte. "Blimey, Alexander!" he remarked. "It's a shame you let someone fix your nose, it was better the other way."

"That was James' handiwork actually," Fred told him, grinning. Briony scowled at them.

"Come on, Charlie, let's go upstairs," she muttered.

"Oh, don't spoil our fun, Briony," Fred laughed. "Anyway, Alexander," he went on, raising one eyebrow at Charlie. "If you're looking for a bit attention, I'd try something else. James never really went for distressing damsels."

Michael snorted into his drink, and Charlie's cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"James never went for what?" came a loud voice.

"We were just telling Alexander you didn't go for distressing damsels," Michael informed James, who frowned.

"What?" he said, in utter confusion.

Worried that tears were stinging her eyes, she looked away and brushed a tear from her flaming cheeks. Over her shoulder, she could see Briony scowling murderously at the boys, but she pushed past, and they were hysterically laughing too hard to try and stop her again.

XXX

The following Saturday was bright and sunny, and though November was dragging on tantalizingly in the lead up to the Christmas month, it had come all too soon for Charlie. The Quidditch match was a subject of the most heightened anticipation, and she couldn't deny that the pressure was mounting. She knew that she would be fine once she was on her broom, feeling the wind whip her hair, and she would be able to forget the world for a few minutes. But while she stood in the changing room, able to hear the crowds growing with the excited chatter - she couldn't deny that it was getting to her.

She had changed into her Quidditch robes, and her leg was bouncing fitfully with anxiety. Andrew came to sit down beside her, grinning sympathetically.

"You alright?" he asked her. She nodded.

"There's just a lot of pressure, isn't there?" she croaked.

Andrew let out a small laugh. "Don't worry. You'll be fine when you're up in the air." She nodded numbly. Grace, Bobby and Mark were talking about some team in the league, laughing loudly. James was not enjoying himself quite so thoroughly. Sort of blankly, Charlie watched Sophie's fingers crawl up his arm. She dearly hoped that the sappy, almost slightly demented look on Sophie's face would never be seen on Charlie's own face.

She couldn't help but vaguely smile at his evident discomfort. Sophie was hissing something in his ear, but he looked like he'd like nothing more than to be swallowed into a pit in the floor. He must have sensed her watching; he looked up and caught her eye. If she didn't know any better, she would have said he was looking at her pleadingly. He _did _look like he wanted to be rescued.

Andrew grabbed her fingers in his, making her jerk and look around at him in alarm. He smiled placidly. "Your fingers are freezing," he remarked. She raised her eyebrows as he attempted to heat her fingers up, smiling bemusedly. "You'll stick to your broom," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Alright," said James loudly. "If you're ready." He was staring icily around at his teammates. "Let's go. Try to win, okay?"

Though the sun was up, the ground was still frozen from the night, and from the moment Charlie kicked her feet off the ground a little harder than she had meant to, things were different. She was free, up in the air, like she knew she would be.

But she didn't know who she was up there. Sophie grinned and winked at her as she rose to her left, and Charlie just rolled her eyes. No one wanted to see that much of another person's tongue. And it didn't seemed to bother her that Sophie could see her, and probably had seen her. She just did it anyway, like she hadn't a care in the world.

And that wasn't something she was exactly used to. It felt good not to care for once.

XXX

The Gryffindor team - for once, undivided in spite of the silly squabbles and long-lasting enmities between them - returned to the common room to be greeted by an uproar of cheering and rapturous applause. Charlie had never been entirely comfortable in a large crowd, but it was hard even for her not to enjoy herself. Anna sat dourly in the corner of the room, looking surly as Charlie got hugged from every angle, and patted on the back every two seconds.

She spent a lot of time being passed around her fellow Gryffindors, being treated to a detailed description of her own most spectacular saves, and someone had gotten a hold of a camera and was calling for shots of team members every five seconds.

Andrew led her around the room most of the time, which made her feel cramped, but she didn't really feel like saying anything to upset him. Every so often he would point out a pair of discreet people snogging in a corner or something, at which Charlie would nod her head and look away quickly.

"Charlie, can I talk to you for a second?" muttered Andrew after about an hour. She looked at him quizzically.

"I can hardly hear myself think and you want to have a heart to heart?" she joked.

"It's important," he insisted. He opened his mouth to say something else, but his words were lost when somebody let out a shout, and the next second, best friends and cousins Fred Weasley and James Potter were glaring at each other with their wands raised. Several people stopped, looking concerned. There was a pregnant pause, and eventually Potter stuffed his wand back in his pocket and stalked out of the portrait hole. Fred was fast on his heels, and Andrew glanced at Charlie with his eyebrows raised.

"Should we - should we do something?" said Charlie dubiously, staring at the spot where they'd disappeared. "They might give each other an extra leg growing out their face or something."

Andrew frowned in concentration. "Nothing they wouldn't deserve," he remarked, looking mutinous.

"I don't fancy giving them a reason to be mad at me," muttered Charlie, more to herself than anyone else. All the same, she made her way over to the portrait hole and poked her head out. The Fat Lady grinned and pointed to her right.

"They went that way, if you're going to look for them," she remarked, raising her eyebrows in disdain as she spoke. "And they were shouting very loudly, woke all the paintings on the corridor up."

"No," said Charlie. "I won't go looking for them. But do us a favour?"

The Fat Lady looked at her expectantly, unable to stop herself smirking. She seemed to understand Charlie without Charlie having to explain herself. "Just - don't let them back in when they come back."

She retreated into the common room and made a beeline for her dormitory, for some unknown reason suddenly completely fed up with the festivities. Sophie stopped her on the way, as if she had been waiting for her.

"Where are they?" she asked, wringing her hands. Charlie blinked at her, thinking to herself that it was highly unlikely that Sophie _actually _cared where they were gone, or even about the fact that she had made the Dynamic Duo fight at all.

"I don't know," said Charlie, admittedly more coldly than she normally would have been. "But they're not getting back in, so you might as well give it a rest for tonight," she said, only recognizing how scathing she sounded when Sophie reacted.

She was horrified with herself, and how irrationally she had spoken. But she was really fed up. She didn't want to talk to anybody, especially not someone who was acting so shallow. And she knew very well that Anna was still scowling at her from across the room, and she wanted to stop feeling like she was under surveillance.

So she just nodded curtly and walked past Sophie, rubbing her temples to nurse away the origins of a very bad headache.

XXX

Charlie came down to breakfast very late the next morning, reluctant to communicate with the rest of the castle until at least Wednesday. She just managed to drag herself out of bed with Briony's insistence. Briony was kind of like a mother with her friend, making sure they were all happy and healthy, where they needed to be when they needed to be there, and in her own words, 'not wasting the entire day in bed when there was so much to do'.

So more to keep her happy than anything else, Charlie allowed Briony to drag her downstairs for a very late breakfast, only half-zoned in to what Briony was trying to talk to her about while they were stuck on a moving staircase.

"Briony, sorry, what were you - arrgh!" Charlie gripped on to Briony once she had found her foot sinking into the trip step on the last staircase. Briony muttered something and stooped to help Charlie up. A cackle echoed through the Entrance Hall, and Anna hopped up the stairs, grinning triumphantly.

"The look suits you," she muttered to Charlie, who went red in the face. She had gotten barely any sleep, and remnants of her bad headache had carried through to the morning, and she was undeniably angry at everyone who wasn't Briony right now.

"You know what, Anna," said Charlie loudly. "Stuff it." A look of astonishment flashed across Anna's face, but in an instant it was gone, replaced by a small, satisfied smirk. Charlie yanked her foot free, snatched Briony's hand and dragged her downstairs as her face went darker than a beetroot. She had never said _Boo! _to Anna before, and she felt sick to her stomach.

_I shouldn't have said anything, _she thought to herself. Her heart was hammering and it took several minutes for her breathing to calm down. She couldn't believe she had said _anything _to Anna, even if it was feeble. She couldn't pick up a fork yet, as her hands still shook with anger. And while she was still furious, dread and regret and worry were bubbling in her stomach.

This was why she didn't cause fights. She hated the feeling, and no matter how bad anybody made her feel, nothing was worth the worry or fear that something worse would happen that it caused her.

She eventually took up a fork and dragged some french toast towards her, still slightly shaken. She was quiet, and she couldn't help think that it was how it should be, and that there was a reason for that.

She had only eaten two mouthfuls before her fresh, only settling peace was disturbed again.

"Alright, Alexander. How's the nose?" Fred jibed as he passed. Charlie looked up, surprised to find that James was right beside him. Charlie didn't answer.

"Incidentally," said James, in what Charlie recognized as his haughtiest voice. Only when he spoke did she realize that she hadn't heard him speak like that in some time. She looked up at him, wondering what was wrong, what had changed. Whatever it was, it hadn't appeared to have lasted long. "Are you the one who was responsible for the Fat Lady not letting us in?" he demanded. "'Cause we didn't appreciate it."

"And you know what happens when we don't appreciate something?" Fred interjected.

And Charlie snapped like a rubber band. She threw her fork down - everyone within a ten feet radius glanced around at the clang in alarm - and glared, unaware of when she had stood up. "You know what," she said, seething so much her hands were shaking again, even when she balled them in fists. "Go tell someone who cares, because I've really had enough of listening to you love the sound of your own voice."

She shoved herself away from the table. Fred's jaw had dropped open and he looked outraged. But James didn't even move. He just stared at her with wide eyes, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. If she had given him time to speak, she didn't think he would have said anything. And that was a first, and it was an achievement to be proud of.

Briony was at her heels in minutes. "Charlie, are you okay?" she said breathlessly.

"Fine," Charlie snapped.

"Really, Charlie," said Briony, sounding cynical. "Anna, James and Fred all in one day. And you're as red as a tomato, you need to -"

"I need to what?" Charlie said, and though she was still angry, her voice was soft. She could feel the steely nerve ebbing away from her, its place taken by a familiar reticence and desire to blend in with the wall and never open her mouth.

"Lie down, or - or something," stuttered Briony, keeping a hand on Charlie's back.

Charlie managed to throw her a small smile. Somebody - maybe it was Anna - had told her to stand up for herself. That once she did, the world would seem funnier and greater, and that she'd feel the most wonderful feeling in the world. And everyone had said that it would feel superb. Not one person had told her that she'd regret it, that she'd feel sick or worried. And nobody had said that she would feel even worse after she did. Well, she had done it. She had said exactly what was on her mind, she had finally stood up for herself, albeit weakly.

_So why did she feel so terrible? _

* * *

I hope everybody had a great holiday! Thanks for reading, and seriously, thanks so much for all the reviews, favourites and follows, you guys are awesome. I'm writing this from the hospital, so I've had plenty of time to look it over. I've love to hear what you think!


	14. It's the Potion Talking

Happy New Year everybody! Here's some fic for you, hopefully it isn't as dreadful as I initially thought. Just as well I don't own any of it, right?

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**It's the Potion Talking**

Was it anger? Was it embarrassment? Or was it simply intrigue that had James glancing over to her work table, where she was stirring her potion tiredly. She was partnered to make a Calming Draught with a haughty Ravenclaw called Sabrina, whose constant insistence that they were doing it wrong and that she had better take over could be heard across the room. She was looking at the wall, and she looked as though she would rather have been anywhere else in the world. James had to agree with her.

Fred elbowed him sharply in the ribs and James glanced up, clearing his throat and feeling his face burn. Fred threw him a quizzical look, but then shrugged his shoulders. "We're supposed to be testing it," he hissed.

"I'm not testing it," James hissed back, staring dubiously at their frothing, gurgling potion, which had just hit a murky thick grey, which was about as far away from a 'pale, shimmering pink' as they were ever going to get.

Fred glared as he scooped a spoonful of the potion and downed it. James watched in anticipation as Fred swallowed, pulled a sour face and then let out a raspy gasp like someone had forced claws down his throat and was proceeding to rip it to shreds.

"You want some water or something, mate?" James said loudly, unable to contain his laughter. Fred hit away James' outstretched hand, and when James emerged from his fit of laughter, everybody else had started to clear up their potions and some people had already left, laughing and chattering.

James scooped his vials and bottles up and rammed his book back into his bag. He pointed his wand at his cauldron and muttered "_Evanesco," _before Fred could force him to test it.

Fred glared, but James just shrugged his shoulders. "You'll be grateful one day when neither of us are dead." Fred couldn't help but grin, and the pair of them trudged out of the classroom and up the dimly lit dungeon corridor to the Entrance Hall, where everyone was shoving everybody else out of the way to get to their next class.

"Alright, Roxie?" James called, as Fred's little sister went scurrying in the other direction. She scowled, as Fred just managed to tug on a lock of her dark hair.

"Don't call me that, James," she said reproachfully, stumbling as she glanced back at her brother and her cousin walking in the other direction.

"I'll see you later," said Fred, as he headed to Divination; James, on the other hand, was on his way to Care of Magical Creatures. He trudged outside by himself, thinking that the day had started so dreary and desperately terrible, there was no way it could go but down.

But there was something that changed his mind almost instantly, once it caught his eye. Grinning, he quickened his pace until he had reached his cousin, easily distinguishable by his shock of violently turquoise hair. His back was turned, leaning over the creatures he'd brought for Hagrid, who was also leaning over them.

"Alright, James?" Teddy greeted him, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

"I didn't think you'd be here so soon!" exclaimed James, more elevated than he'd been in days.

Teddy shrugged. "I decided to go to Greece on Sunday instead," he said promptly.

"For how long?" asked James.

"Dunno yet," Teddy replied with a broad grin.

"Do you know anything?" said James, at which Teddy laughed loudly.

"Not really," he said cheerfully. James glanced at the crate of creatures behind the pair, which he recognized immediately as Hinkypunks. They were one-legged creatures who carried a lantern and emitted a strange, unliftable fog; they tried to lure witches and wizards through the fog, off the same road.

Teddy grinned when he saw James watching them. "In the last few years they've gotten sort of rare in Britain," he informed James, who nodded. "And I was passing through Greenland, and they were there."

"Cool," said James, simply to be saying something. The class was starting to arrive in dribs and drabs; Hagrid called them to order and began explaining about Hinkypunks.

"Yeh'll be drawin' 'em today," he informed the class. "Now, they don' like bein' stuck, and ter get the feet, we'll haff teh let 'em ou', so make sure they don' run off on yeh." He grinned broadly at the class. James was surprised to find that Teddy was hanging around to watch the class. He wanted to talk to Teddy - he knew he would later. But it was hard to be interested in Hinkypunks when his elusive and idolized cousin was around.

They were split into groups of three and four; James had been attempting to sketch a relatively decent shape for about ten minutes when one went stumping past him, its lantern swinging. It headed into the dark thicket of the forest, where its light could be seen clearly. And the next and most peculiar thing, Charlotte Alexander went streaking after it, laughing.

Without a second thought she delved into the forest. No one else seemed concerned by this, or even looked like they knew she was gone. She didn't know what was in there - there had been a few murmurs circling around that an Erlking now dwelled in there, in the deep.

"Alexander - you're gonna get yourself killed!" he shouted. No reply.

James glanced around furtively. Hagrid was occupied, and Teddy was lounging against a tree and looking in the other direction with his eyes half closed. James yelled for her to come back, but she was off like a shot after the bloody thing, picking her way delicately through the thicket of branches and plants. And with a grunt of frustration, he clambered to his feet and followed, grumbling the whole way.

"Alexander, are you crazy?" he shouted into the forest. "I'm not being held responsible for your death, you know."

"Quit your whining!" came the distant reply. He almost fell flat on his face. Was she going to start this again, this . . . _bravery _that he wasn't accustomed to seeing in her? She was a Gryffindor, and he had always laughed about how much she didn't belong in a house credited for its daring, its bravery. But he was following her through the forest to make sure she didn't get herself killed, and she had launched herself through the trees recklessly and thoughtlessly, without a fear in the world. _  
_

And now she was yelling back retorts like there was nothing he could say that would harm her, that there was nothing in the world that anyone could do to faze her or make her feel bad about herself. And James had spent four year practically living off making people feel bad about themselves.

It was bloody unnerving.

"Are you coming or not?" she yelled. He frowned at the coiling tendrils of branches at his feet, as if they held the answer.

"I don't have a bloody clue where you are!" he yelled back, and after a few seconds he heard her trudging back through the trees. She ducked under a branch and leaned against the tree attached to it with her eyebrows raised. It was severely disconcerting, and suddenly James felt quite nervous, like he was being surveyed by a team of heartless, judgmental spectators, and they were watching with keen interest what was about to be unleashed on him.

"I'm right here, and it's getting away," she said pointedly. "So come on." She whipped around and darted through the trees again, and grudgingly, he followed, shoving low-dipping branches and foliage out of his way aggressively.

"Are you feeling okay?" he called after her.

"Not really," came the oddly wobbling reply. "I was working with Sabrina in Potions, and when she was finished, I tested the Potion and let me tell you, it was meant to be a Calming Draught but I think she did something wrong, 'cause I don't feel wrong."

She spoke very fast and her voice carried, so that James was blinking to take in all she was saying while still managing to get through the forest, which was becoming thicker by the second.

"Because I'm the opposite of calm," she added. She sounded worried about how hyperactive she seemed to be.

"Well there's no need to be so hysterical," he shouted. There came no reply, and after a seconds he could make out her silhouette, having come to a halt between two oddly similar looking trees, which were gnarled and almost looked like they were glaring at him.

"I don't know where it's gone," she said simply, turning around to face him.

"Well, I'm so glad that you risked us getting killed by Merlin knows what so you could find nothing," he said acerbically, glancing around him.

She scrutinized for a minute, her expression pensive and the tiniest bit proud. "No one asked you to come," she pointed out quietly.

"Well, no one else was going to stop you, were they?" he muttered.

"You call this stopping me?" she said, unable to contain her giggle.

"Well, nobody else noticed you, did they?" he amended, and she looked at him curiously through the cover of the tall forest. "Not that anybody ever does," James continued, unable to stop himself.

"Well, what's that supposed to mean?" said Charlotte, leering at him now.

"It meant exactly what I said," said James scathingly, suddenly inexplicably angry. He couldn't describe or explain how he felt. All he knew was that he had to keep talking, and that he wanted and needed to keep talking, to see it register on her face. "No one ever notices you."

"Well, I'm quiet," Charlotte said, shrugging her shoulders. He didn't understand why she couldn't stop smiling. It must have been that bloody potion.

"Well, that wouldn't have been the word I'd use," muttered James.

There was a slight, but very pregnant pause as the infliction behind those words hit home with her. She sniffed and held her chin up. "And what would that be?" she said coldly.

"Well, there's a whole list," he replied. "I'm not sure you want to hear it."

"I'm sure I could guess!" she retorted hotly. James looked her up and down; she was barely able to sit still, and he had to fight the urge to reach out and steady her. He noticed a crumpled piece of paper squeezed into her fist.

"Yeah, I bet you could," James smirked.

"Oh, is there any way I could push you in the lake and make it look like an accident?" she said wistfully, crying it to the top of the trees.

"You don't really want to see me drown, do you, Alexander?" he sniggered.

"No," she said matter-of-factly. "I want to see the Giant Squid strangle you."

"You do realize that would kill me?" said James, feigning hurt.

"Yes," she replied instantly, staring around at her feet.

James frowned, unused to feeling genuinely hurt by someone he barely talked to. "Well, I bet you even hope the Squid will strangle _you _one day, you're not much of a looker," he spat at her.

And she stepped closer to him so she could glare up at him defiantly. And for the first time he could remember, she didn't look like she was about to cry or shrink away. "Let's just get back to class, I don't have time to get a detention," she said icily.

She shoved into his shoulder as she passed and he followed, hardly able to believe he was smiling in spite of himself. "And how do you expect to get back?" he shouted after her.

"Wander around aimlessly until we see the light?" she suggested, looking over her shoulder. He laughed to himself, but it didn't last. He was getting confused, trudging after her.

"Do you want me to go first?" he offered, thinking to himself that he could definitely find a way out of there faster.

"No," she said simply, smiling brilliantly over her shoulder at him.

"You didn't even find the stupid thing," grumbled James. He didn't understand her; or rather, he wasn't getting the usual satisfaction he got from getting under skin. Because he _wasn't _getting under her skin. And, truth be told, he didn't completely hate it.

Something darted past him on his right, and instinctively he grabbed her forearm, pulling them both to a stop amongst the trees. "Did you hear that?" he hissed, glancing around.

"Hear what?" she whispered back, trying to follow the direction of his gaze. They waited in the quiet for a long while, until James was sure he must have imagined it. "Can you let go of me?" Charlotte hissed, attempting to yank her arm out of his grasp.

And again, he was inexplicably furious with her, with the way she was half-grinning. "Look, can you just cool off?" he spat in a low voice. "You're the one who decided to go running off into the forest."

"Oh, bite me," she seethed, turning on her heel. She let out a yelp and slipped on a root that had slid under her foot. Despite his Quidditch reflexes, James wasn't quick enough to stop her, and he expected himself to laugh at her on her knees. But he didn't bother laughing; he just offered her his hand. Glaring at him like she'd rather stay on the ground, she took it and he hauled her to her feet, unable to stop himself grinning.

Even in the dark of the forest, he could see her blushing. "I told you you'd get yourself killed," he said, before he thought about what he was saying.

She cleared her throat, and even looked like she was about to thank him, but she stopped halfway through and gasped, dropping to her knees again. "Where is it? Where's the letter?"

"Who's it from?" asked James, watching her.

"My brother," she muttered. "And I really need to find it because Lizzie and Katie aren't going to believe me, and it's quite important that they believe me and I just -"

"I didn't know you had a brother," remarked James, finally deciding that he'd better stoop and help her look for it since it seemed so damn important.

"Well, he's a Squib," she said to the ground, feeling around gingerly. "Or a Muggle. We're not really sure. My dad's a Muggle, you see. He doesn't even know I'm a witch. And now he's about to go and marry another Muggle who doesn't know I'm a witch, and I don't even know how I'm supposed to deal with that anyway. And why am I telling you all this?" she said quickly, raising her eyes to his.

"Must be the potion talking," he said, grinning. He had never seen her so full of vitality; she had never displayed a hint of vivaciousness.

"I'm going to _kill _Sabrina," Charlotte muttered.

"Don't," he grinned. "Ask her to make you some more. It kind of suits you." She let out a little laugh, jumping to her feet. James stood up too, feeling awkward. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"

"Yes, you did," she cut across him, a wry smile tugging on her lips. "And I didn't much fancy an argument in the middle of a forest we can't even get out of."

"Well, it was my fault," James started.

"I know," she said imploringly, smiling knowingly. "Look, forget it. In fact," she added. "Forget the whole thing ever happened, 'kay?"

He nodded. "Fine with me." He was about to ask which way they were meant to go; she gasped and clutched his arm, and they both jumped when they heard shouting, as if whoever was yelling was right beside them.

"_James, if you don't say something soon, I'm going to kill you and then your father's gonna kill me!" _The voice echoed around the woods, and James tried to determine the source, while Charlotte waited, regulating her breathing.

"That's Teddy," muttered James. "We'd better go find him." He looked down at her fingers still closed around his arm, which she released immediately. They found Teddy after a few minutes, neither of them daring to say anything more.

"I don't want to hear how idiotic you both are," Teddy said, torn between being annoyed and being amused. "Just go before your father and whoever your father is," he added, pointing to Charlotte, "both decide to murder me in the dead of night."

"Sorry," grinned James. "She went after one, and I had to go rescue her before she got herself hurt."

"I thought you didn't go for distressing damsels?" asked Charlotte, her expression shrewd.

"Who told you that?" he laughed at her, shaking his head. She frowned.

"I must have heard it somewhere," she muttered, her leg shaking fitfully.

"You need some antidote," he informed her.

"Hurry on, would you? I think the class is over," Teddy said loudly, smirking at the two of them. They trudged out of the forest. "You better get going before you get detention," said Teddy sagely, winking at his cousin. "I'll see you at dinner."

He stuck his hands in his pockets and headed back to Hagrid's hut. "Well, thanks for trying to stop me getting me killed," Charlotte said shortly, heading out ahead of him, mainly to stop her legs from wobbling.

"Oh, and James," she said, turning around so that she was walking backwards. He blinked at her; the sound of his name on her lips was foreign, and sent a shiver of something that was half shock and pain and half excitement up his spine. "Don't worry," she said, smiling shrewdly. "I won't tell your friends you know how to be nice. The shock might kill them." She let out a laugh, and she scooped up her back from where she'd left it in the paddock before heading back towards the castle. James shook his head and ran to catch up with Teddy, hoping to get a few minutes in before break was over.

XXX

"Oh, lighten up, Al," Teddy laughed, tousling the younger boy's hair. James grinned.

"I've been telling him that for years, he's never listened," interjected James, shaking his head. Teddy was looking around the Gryffindor common room, which they had technically smuggled him into, so that he could say goodbye before he left. No one seemed to question the Potters and this new addition, who was at least twenty, and had bright turquoise hair.

Albus took another profiterole, grinning sheepishly. "There's nothing wrong with doing well," he muttered.

"Of course not," Teddy agreed in absolution, nodding his head. "I'm not saying be like James over here."

"I am," said James quickly, winking at his brother. "Never killed anybody."

"You get up to enough to kill somebody," replied Albus, grinning.

"Speaking of things you get up to, James," said Teddy, a grin tugging on the corner of his mouth. "Who was that girl earlier today?"

"What girl?" said Lily sharply, who was seated on James' lap - there were no seats left.

"Oh, that was nothing, I don't really get on with her," said James offhandedly, waving a hand dismissively.

"Not what it looked like to me," Teddy smirked.

"Well, that it is what it was," said James coolly, telling himself consciously to keep cool. That was the number one law - keep cool. "She doesn't really like me."

"She did seem a bit apprehensive of you, admittedly," said Teddy thoughtfully.

James squirmed and shrugged his shoulders, looking up at the ceiling to avoid Teddy's piercing stare. "Yeah, well. I suppose she has some reason to be," he muttered, more to himself than to anybody else. Lily looked round at him curiously, but Teddy was shaking his head.

"James, mate," he said, in what was almost a pleading tone. "Please don't be an idiot."

"How am I an idiot?" James shot back, frowning.

Teddy inclined his head, shooting James a look that clearly said '_you know and don't act like you don't'. _Albus reoccupied Teddy's attention then for the next half an hour or so, until Teddy looked at his watch and announced he had to go.

"I'll walk you out," said James with a grin, lifting Lily off his lap. The corridors were almost entirely deserted, except for a few sixth years who were sitting around the corridors.

"So, what did you say her name was?"

James was chagrined to hear Teddy returning to the subject. His stomach turned and he looked at his shoes. "I didn't."

"So what is it?" Teddy said with a laugh.

"Charlotte," replied James, clearing his throat.

"She seemed like a nice girl," Teddy commented, watching James carefully. James nodded. "You're not being an arse, are you?"

"What does that mean?" said James, laughing weakly.

"Well, you don't need to torment people to please your friends," Teddy reminded him. "I told you that already. You're better than that." James sniffed, not really knowing what to say. It always unnerved him how Teddy could read him like an open book. Teddy didn't really understand. Pressure didn't register with Teddy, and it never had. Even still, and he wouldn't admit it to Teddy, but he knew in his heart that Teddy was right. He tormented people for the fun of it, just like those twerps in second year had tortured his sister. Or tried to, at least.

And he couldn't believe it. But it was too hard. He liked being liked. And was there something really so wrong with that?

* * *

Hey readers, guess what - there's a poll on my profile that's related to this story, and it's imperative I get everybody's opinions. So please go vote on it, it's important! And review too, that's also important! Thanks for reading anyway, everybody have a great year!


	15. Punishment

Hi guys, happy New Year everybody! Updating from the hospital now, so this took me forever and hopefully it isn't as dreadful as I initially thought. Just as well I don't own any of it, right?

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**Punishment**

Once the so-called 'Calming Draught' had worn off, the week wore itself out with not much to speak of. Charlie kept her head down and tried to put it out of her head, since it was proving to remain a sore spot of embarrassment for her, showing no signs of relenting. She told Briony and Talia - contradictory to their predictions, Anna had still not spoken to Charlie - that Sabrina had screwed up their Calming Draught beyond saving, and that was the reason she had ended up in the forest.

She didn't mention James Potter.

By Wednesday, the wildest stories featuring Charlie and her excursions in the forest were flitting about from ear to ear, the most bizarre of which including her taking off with a herd of centaurs, and showing up after being spat out by the mermaids in the lake with absolutely no clothes on.

Luckily, none of these stories starred James Potter.

It was the only relief that she could hold on to - she had had stories spread about her before, usually _by _James or Fred Weasley or Michael Fawcett - but none of them were usually as bad as her ending up with mermaids with no clothes on. They were usually petty, like when Michael Fawcett had figured out she hadn't kissed a boy. She was only in third year at the time, and frankly hadn't realized that she was _meant to _have had kissed a boy at that moment.

But it appeared that James was equally keen on letting his involvement go unnoticed. After all, he did have a reputation to uphold, and Charlie wanted nothing more to do with him. She kept thinking of what he'd said to her - and sure, he'd apologized to her as well. Both in the forest, where nobody was around to hear him. But she had learned a long time ago not to trust anything he said, and it was always the more hurtful words that stuck more, and more importantly, that you could count upon to be truthful when they came from James Potter.

She suspected that Briony and Talia knew that she hadn't told them the full story - they had once gotten lost in the forest in second year, and had been gone all evening before it was reported and they were, to fit the description aptly, rescued, sobbing and clutching each other. They didn't really understand how she had managed to get herself out alive.

But they didn't press it all week, and they kept the conversation going and lively while the three of them tackled their ever higher mounting pile of homework in the common room, apart from when Charlie had Quidditch practice, which had been increased to three times a week.

She wasn't _entirely _used to most of the school jeering at her between classes or at mealtimes, but as she had grown so accustomed to ignoring the jeers of a few _select _members of the school's population, she had no trouble blocking it out.

There wasn't that much to note, apart from Charlie and her new partner in Potions, Sophie Thomas from Ravenclaw, knocking over their cauldron. The contents spilled into ever crevice and travelled like tiny streams through the stoned floor, and the two girls fell about the place laughing. They lost their houses ten points each and were given lines.

The only other thing that happened at all was on Thursday, when Anna swore to the moon and back that it had been an accident, but Charlie knew just how purposeful the hex aimed her way had been. Since her little escapade in the forest, Charlie had become even more reserved, so the urge to engage in a shouting match during class with Anna was more of a feeble whisper. Anna was given a day's detention and lost the house a further twenty points.

Thursday, it appeared, was not destined to be a good day. Professor Callworth, the Deputy Headmaster, had always been fair to her. He didn't really _like _students in general, but Charlie would have gone as far as to say he was fond enough of her, and of a few other students in the class who always exceeded his dismally low expectations. He asked her to remain behind, and Charlie wasn't worried - perhaps he wanted to discuss something to do with her prefect duties. At least, she wasn't worried until the professor called Potter's name, and her brows knitted together in confusion.

And then it came gushing back to her, the image of Sabrina speaking with Professor Callworth yesterday, looking personally offended and scandalized. And like a veil had been lifted, it became startlingly clear what was coming to them.

There would be repercussions. Of course, Charlotte had suspected - once the Calming Draught gone-awry had worn off - that there would be repercussions. Professor Callworth was, to be frank, was easily swayed. It was hardly in either of their favour that James Potter and his friends spent more time in detention than in class, and that Callworth had a long-lasting dislike of the boys.

"Don't worry," James assured her as the rest of the class filed out of the Transfiguration classroom. Charlie was still collecting her thoughts when James started talking, and her mind was working a mile a minute, so she barely had the capacity to take in what he was saying. In fact, she only barely registered that he was speaking to her, and in broad daylight too. "He pretends he hates me, but he loves me really." He winked confidently, and Charlie blinked up at him, perplexed.

She glanced over her shoulders, like to make sure that it was her he was talking to. She saw Fred throw his cousin a bewildered look; James shrugged and motioned for Fred to go and wait for him outside. Charlie swallowed, and turned back to her bookbag and all the belongings she was trying to cram into it, rather unsuccessfully. She could feel her face burning at the memory of how stupid she'd acted in the forest, which Potter had inadvertently conjured to her mind. That bloody potion - there wasn't a chance in the world she would have said all that stuff if she hadn't tested it. And definitely not in front of _James Potter _of all people.

And now he knew things, about her family and her brother and what was _really _on her mind - and that never seemed to bode well in the past, and she couldn't for the life of her envision an eventuality that proved that it wouldn't do equal damage this time around.

And then she looked up, a sudden realization hitting her like a brick. "Wait, what do you mean 'don't worry'?" she hissed at James, who was sitting up on a nearby table and looking entirely relaxed, swinging his legs nonchalantly.

"Well, he'll probably give us detention," James said cheerfully, shrugging his shoulders. With a start, Charlie realized that the classroom was quite empty now, except for Professor Callworth, who was industriously shuffling some papers before he addressed his pair of delinquents at hand. "But it could be worse - I mean, he always lets me off easy . . ."

"For - for what?" Charlie stuttered.

"Well, it _is _called the Forbidden Forest," James sniggered.

Charlie's mouth dropped open. "I'm going to kill Sabrina," she muttered under her breath.

James was grinning at her. "Is this your first time?" he said, gaping in awe like a child full of wonder. She looked at him, lost. "Being in trouble?" he prodded, raising one eyebrow.

She went a deeper shade of scarlet; Professor Callworth cleared his throat, looking over them sternly.

"Would you care to tell me what the pair of you were doing in the Forest yesterday?" Charlie blanked - the only thing that was going through her head was how much she wanted to throttle Sabrina.

"We were chasing a Hinkypunk, sir," said James, unabashedly.

Callworth stared at James for a minute, and looked very much like he wanted to slap his forehead. "The forest is off-limits. And do you know why it's off-limits? Potter? Alexander?" Neither said a word; Charlie fixed her eyes on her shoes and waiting for him to start shouting. "The forest poses many dangers. Potter, I've been chasing you away from the forest for years," he said dismissively, waving his hand at James, who grinned brilliantly like he had been complimented generously.

"But Ms. Alexander, I expected better than you," he went on snappishly. "And I understand you've been struggling to complete your duties. You need to tread carefully, or we may have to consider revoking your badge."

James frowned. "Sir, she only went in after me," he said angrily, glaring at Professor Callworth.

"W-" Charlie started to ask James what in the name of Merlin he was doing, but he cut across her.

"She only went in to make sure I didn't die or anything," he informed Callworth nonchalantly. "So if you're going to blame her for anything, it's only for making sure I was still alive."

Callworth shot him a look, and Charlie bit back the urge to laugh; the look on his face was one to suggest that that was _exactly _what Callworth would blame her for. He spent the entire next class explaining how serious it was to be in the forest, especially now that there was rumoured to be something dark and dangerous lurking in it. Charlie couldn't help but notice James roll his eyes as the lecture dragged on.

When they emerged, they had been dealt two weeks of detention. Or rather, Charlotte would be joining James in detention - which was punishment enough - starting Monday, and his would be extended for another two weeks. As it was Friday, at least she still had the weekend.

"I swear," remarked James to Fred, once they had safely exited the classroom. "The man has it out for me. I'll bet you anything that if it hadn't been me, she would've gotten a telling off and ten points off."

Charlie blinked at her shoes, taking in the reference to her, even though she was standing right there. She didn't think she could talk - she felt sick. It wasn't for getting detention; she had received detention once in third year, when Charlie and a girl in fourth year in Ravenclaw had fought a very public brawl in the Entrance Hall. She had been in detention for a week, but since she hadn't started the fight, she'd been let off easily. She felt sick at the thought of Sabrina, and more importantly, the fact that Potter had more than likely gotten her out of even more trouble.

That fight was the first thing she thought of when she had been awarded her badge. She barely even _wanted _the ruddy thing.

Privately, she agreed with James, and she didn't think that Callworth would have been so merciless if it hadn't been _him _who had gotten her into trouble. But then, she realized - it was she who had gotten him into trouble.

"Well, you're welcome," said James loudly to Charlie as she began to walk away, eyeing her closely.

She blanched, and as a sea of students came spilling out of nearby classrooms, and he rolled his eyes as he stalked away, muttering about a dunce. Her insides squirmed and she shoved her way through the crowds. He thought he'd gotten her out of something.

And she supposed, in truth, he had. That bloody potion, she thought again. That was the only reason she had gone into the forest, it must have been the only thing. And in fairness, she had never _asked _him to run in after her, forcing his way into the spotlight once again. And it wasn't as if he had been Prince Charming.

Charlie could barely fight the urge to track down Sabrina and strangle her - she was the reason that she was cringing at how she'd acted in the forest, and the reason she was facing two weeks of detention. Which meant two weeks face to face with James Potter, who had unlimited access to saying whatever he bloody well felt like.

She trudged to class, unable to stop herself moping. She wanted to go and vent to Anna, express her fears and have Anna reassure her with her snark and well-chosen words. But she wasn't speaking to Anna. Or rather, Anna wasn't speaking to her, over something ludicrous.

She could have gone to speak to Talia or Briony. But it wouldn't have been the same. And they all knew it too.

XXX

Teachers had one of two strategies when it came to preparing their students for the Christmas break, which was still over a month away, but imminent in the classroom. Some teachers chose to set a massive test on the day they returned to classes, so that they would be forced to study and revise over their so-called holiday.

Then there were some who felt it was best to simply pile on test after test in the month leading up to the holidays, and hope that whatever they had studied would really ingrain itself over the holidays. Either way, what the fifth years observed above all was that the teachers were taking fifth year very, very seriously. And it appeared that _'You can never give enough tests_' had become an unspoken rule that the teachers frequently put into effect.

Luckily for Charlie, she had a well-balanced group of teachers, so half of her tests were to be after the holidays. But that still meant that around half of them would be before the holidays; the teachers had stormed into the class and warned them all about those tests in the first week of November (which, technically, they had yet to finish). Charlie thought that this was very thoughtful of them.

She noticed that week that Briony and Talia were as kind as could be, but very rarely in the common room. They were involved in all sorts of clubs and activities, and neither went to one without the other. So Charlie observed that she was left to her own devices quite a lot. So Charlie studied for these tests, even though they were a month away.

She was studying - lightly studying, but studying all the same - at breakfast on Friday morning, the last day of freedom before two weeks of detention. Her book was propped open against the milk jug where she sat opposite Briony and Talia, and as she helped herself to more and more porridge, her eyes slid over the words without really taking them in.

There came a loud scream of the Ravenclaw table; Charlie jumped and looked up in shock to find that the scream had come from her sister, Lizzie, who was poring over a letter. Charlie's insides went cold, and she frowned at Katie down the table, who'd gone pale in the face.

Charlie hadn't been speaking to Lizzie lately, and she wasn't keen to see how she would react to their father's news. Lizzie, more than any of her siblings, hated Carol, the Muggle their father was about to marry. However, judging by the look on Lizzie's face, she was about to find out exactly what her reaction would be.

Charlie couldn't deny that she was concerned about the situation. She wanted to write to her mother, who had decided to take some time for herself once she split with their father. And Charlie didn't really feel like bothering her; it stopped her every time she thought of sending an owl to her mother.

Katie was up in a second; Charlie managed a grim smile at her little sister, who was so strong, and so brave. Charlie followed suit, making a beeline for the Ravenclaw table, where Lizzie had gone from horrified to plain furious.

The sisters vacated the hall quickly, under several intrigued, watchful eyes, and once they were in the safety of the Entrance Hall, Charlie could see the paper shaking in Lizzie's hands. She couldn't quench her own fury, bubbling up inside her for her mother. It still baffled her that after years, she had never told their father what she really was, what their children were bound to be. Well, almost all of their children.

And keeping their magic from their father while their mother was around was one thing. But Charlie didn't know how they would manage not saying anything when he married another Muggle; she knew they would be expected to live with them for the summer or at the other holidays. And it was making her stomach squirm.

She was thankful that they weren't at their father's much - he thought they were away at a prestigious boarding school only for girls, which satisfactorily explained why their brother Peter had been left at home. The three girls made it convincing, and Katie forged a number of documents for her husband to peruse.

"Tell me this isn't true," said Lizzie in a shaking voice as she brandished the letter Peter had written her, looking between both her sisters, who stared back despairingly. Charlie glanced at Katie ,swallowing her guilt for letting her twelve-year-old sister speak to Lizzie, with whom Charlie had never really seen eye to eye.

"Apparently it is," Katie muttered sullenly.

"Peter wrote to me at the start of the week," Charlie informed her, with a deep sigh.

"And you didn't say anything?" spat Lizzie.

"Well, I didn't want to provoke a reaction like this," said Charlie lightly. "I was trying to figure out how to tell you."

"Peter's delighted," Lizzie said scornfully, looking back at the letter again before thrusting it into Charlie's hands. Lizzie's twin brother, possessing no magical ability of his own, relished in anything entirely Muggle-related.

Katie blew a rasberry, grimacing. "I didn't think they were going to get _married." _

"_I _didn't think Peter would sell us out," said Lizzie, looking murderous.

Charlie sucked her bottom lip under her teeth, trying to figure out something to say. Katie beat her to the punch. "I thought Mum and Dad were getting back together," she said sadly, her large eyes glistening with tears.

Lizzie laid a hand on her shoulder, her expression soft and sympathetic. When she spoke, however, any tenderness died. "Not in a million years," she said harshly, giving Katie a gruff pat. Katie looked up at her, half-confused, half-outraged, but Lizzie was so upfront that she hardly noticed.

"Well, I'm not going!" Katie cried hysterically, as she literally backed away from her sisters. "You can't make you."

"No one's making you," said Charlie in a quiet voice. The bell signalled the start of class, and the three girls glanced at each other with matching grimaces. Charlie could see a plot formulating behind Lizzie's eyes already, not that she believed anything would work.

"Don't worry about it now," said Charlie reassuringly, nodding especially towards Katie. "We'll figure something out." She was astonished at how confident she sounded, how unworried. She could easily lie and say they would do something, and it mollified both her sisters, and it even sounded convincing.

If only she could believe herself.

XXX

Friday, as it turned out, did not improve from the dreadful start. Charlie hadn't believed anything could get _more _dreadful than the fiasco at breakfast, which had attracted too much attention to Charlie, both unwonted and unwanted. But that turned out to be the best part of her day.

_Another _hex was aimed at her during Defense, which was narrowly dodged. It hit a glass cabinet, which exploded. Ten points were taken from the caster, and although she blocked it out, Charlie knew who that would be.

A number of tests were scheduled for the following week - the week she had detention. She also received two graded essays that she had bled, sweat and cried over - one had been awarded an A. The other had not been marked, there was just a little note in the corner saying that if she desired to write it again, it would be accepted. But this piece of work was far below her usual standard, and would not merit an acceptable mark.

It was with relief that Charlie welcomed the cancellation of Quidditch practice that night - they _had _already trained three times, which was more than enough in Charlie's humble opinion. James informed the team at dinner, since it looked like bad rain.

As he predicted, it rained all night - James skipped out with Sophie, which was repulsing enough as it was, leaving Fred and Michael to pick on Charlie until they got bored, which happened fast since she was so intent on finishing her homework. Briony and Talia joined her a few minutes after and brightened up the afternoon, indoors at least.

The next few days passed more quietly than the week had passed, for which Charlie was thankful. However, the weekend was swallowed up by the following Monday with indecent haste, and before Charlie knew what was happening, she had been given the greatest amount of homework the fifth years had suffered all year, and her detention was weighing down on her, breathing down her neck and laughing at all the homework that she would be finishing at all hours of the night.

The holidays - which had seemed so close only a few days ago - now seemed further away than ever.

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Guys, you guys are totally awesome and thank you for voting on my very important poll. BUT - as it is now (and I cannot believe this) two options are tied. So if you haven't voted on it, please do, since I really have no idea what to do, and I'm very confused by the level-pegging. I mean, is it a sign or something?

Well, if you have any advice about what I'm going to do (check the poll) please let me know!

Anyway, I'd love to hear what you thought, since my confidence just plummeted this week, and I have nothing else to do in this place and getting some reviews would be nice. Thanks for reading!


	16. Chatty

This. took. forever. And I'm iffy. So really honestly here, I'm completely open to criticism. So if you've got any concrit, please send it my way. Don't own it! Also, this is one of those choppy chapters again, I'm sorry!

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**Chatty**

James suspected that it was Charlotte's clean record that spared the pair of them from something a lot more challenging than cleaning.

The first night they were stationed in the hospital wing, whose only occupant had caught an extremely aggressive, volatile vomiting bug. She didn't say a word the entire time. The silence was warm and engulfing, but never broken. She didn't even look up at him once, while he racked his brains for something to say that hadn't been recycled twice in the last month. He frowned into the silence, almost wishing that she would say something, or at least look at him. Didn't she realize that detention went a lot faster when you made the best of it? She took a different route back to the common room once they'd left the hospital wing, so James took his time walking back, confused and unnerved by the odd feeling that something was missing.

The next two nights were lines, which passed in the same bizarrely tantalizing silence as the first. And the fourth night, Professor Callworth displayed a strange desire to create the most inventive ways of boring James to death.

"They never get dirty anyway," James grumbled as he scrubbed at the helmet of a suit of armour. Charlotte hadn't said anything, and didn't even acknowledge he'd spoken.

James couldn't help but scowl - she wasn't being cold, but he wanted her to say something. It was infuriating, when she didn't even smile when he made a joke, and he was starting to suffer some discomfort. He couldn't help but think that this would be a lot better if she would speak to him.

"Oi," he said loudly, frowning down at her. She was crouched down and shining up the feet. "You missed a spot."

She pulled back, scanning every inch of the metal. "Where?" she muttered.

"So you _do _remember how to speak," James commented grouchily under his breath. She looked up at him, and he hoped she was finally going to say something.

But it wasn't her who spoke. It was the knight in bloody shining armour. "Careful there, lass," it wheezed. "The ankle's a weak joint, very tender."

James shot it a very dirty look. "You're made of metal," he pointed out coldly, hitting its shoulder. "How can you have a tender ankle?"

Pompously, the suit of armour huffed and shook itself out, rattling precariously. James had yelped and jumped before he had composed himself in time to act cool. Charlotte actually smiled; James, looking mutinous, returned to the helmet.

And after a minute, Charlotte cleared her throat and murmured, "You missed a spot."

James stared down at her in shock and long overdue satisfaction, a grin slowly tugging at the corners of his mouth. Without realizing, he leaned too hard on the spot he was polishing, and the helmet lost its balance.

It fell into the suit of armour's waiting hands, and a voice came out of what appeared to be the helmet, moaning, "Careful sonny Jim, I need that!" as it raised its hand to hit James over the back of his head.

He saw stars. "Mother of -" James sucked his breath in through his teeth, now massaging his scalp. Charlotte gasped and scrambled inelegantly to her feet, and had her hands clamped over her mouth in horror as she gazed at him worriedly, as if she was scared he would keel over at any second.

"Are you okay?" she breathed.

He ignored her question. "Am I - am I bleeding?"

"Let me see," she muttered, using his shoulders to balance herself as she stood on tiptoe. "I don't think so," she concluded. His vision started to darken; blinking rapidly, he grasped her arms to make sure he wouldn't fall over.

"Do you want to go to the hospital wing?" asked Charlotte. He shook his head.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he prodded.

"No," replied James, aiming a kick at the suit of armour's shin. His loud swears echoed down the corridor as he screwed his face up to block out the pain now searing from his throbbing toe.

"Oh God," muttered Charlotte amusedly, and to his astonishment, a second later she had burst out laughing, leaning against the wall for support. James could hardly believe this had happened. He had wanted her to talk, but he couldn't recall a time when she had smiled, genuinely while he was around. And now he had made a ruddy fool of himself as well. Is _that _what it took to make her laugh?

"Cut it out," James moaned, turning around to hide his smile and his slowly reddening face.

"Sorry," she chuckled. "But you did deserve it."

"I what?" James yelped.

"Yes, you did," said Charlotte, still laughing.

"I didn't - it's your fault anyway!"

"How is it my fault?" she demanded, still forcing down the last of her laughter. She blushed a second later, seeming to remember herself.

"You - you distracted me," he spluttered, unsure of why he felt awkward saying that. Well, how else was he supposed to describe it?

She pulled a face. "Nothing's ever your fault, is it, Potter?" she muttered. He glanced at her - she got quieter, and seemed to shrink into herself, until she was back to staring at the floor timidly, waiting for him to say something rude.

"Now you're getting it," James retorted, raising one eyebrow. They didn't speak for the rest of the night.

XXX

She had a ribbon in her hair in Transfiguration the next day. James had been permanently relocated to a solitary desk following his increasing misbehaviour. The desk happened to be behind Alexander and bloody Wood. Wood cast him dirty, angry looks all the time, like he was personally offended or almost hurt by James' very existence. Well, the feeling was mutual.

James associated the desk with an overwhelming sense of loneliness, and he spent most of his time daydreaming, staring absently at the back of Alexander's head, completely unfocused.

And today, he just happened to register that she had a thin, green ribbon in her hair. His fingers tapped on the desk, itching to yank it out of her hair. She'd look better without it, didn't she know that? She out to let her hair down more often anyway, he thought grudgingly. he didn't like it when girls were so uptight. Even now, her shoulders were hunched and her leg was bouncing fitfully. She was making him uneasy.

XXX

James gaped around him, hardly able to believe where he was.

"Fred, what are we _doing _here?" he hissed. They were sitting, surrounded by books, in the most secluded corner of the library they had been able to find - but still in the library nonetheless.

"I just need to pass this test," Fred replied, sighing. "I promise we'll never come back."

"Do you realize it would kill our image if anyone say us?" James moaned as he rested his chin on his arms, folded across the table.

"You're doing a pretty good job killing it yourself," Fred muttered, glancing up at James. James didn't reply; he scowled and huffed, just as he spotted Sophie from the next table. He turned his face away, praying that she wouldn't see him. He had been avoiding her as best he could - he saw how Fred's mouth grew thinner whenever she carried on with her new habit of tailing after them. He had started to dread Quidditch practices, where it was inevitable that he'd have to speak to her. He had only played along to annoy Fred at the start, but now something really bothered him about her, ate away at his stomach every time he saw her.

It was weird - he couldn't put his finger on it. All he knew was that he wanted to get rid of her.

Eventually, James sighed, resigned to do some homework or something. His mum had been asking Lily whether he was studying or not, so he figured he better do some. He glanced at his watch 0 he didn't have detention for another two hours. He may as well do something.

"Only six weeks left to the holidays," Fred muttered monotonously, not really to anyone in particular, sighing.

James snorted. "You do realize we'll probably be in detention for all six of those?"

Fred smirked back at him. "I think you have more detention left to do than you have time left at school," he remarked, making James shrug his shoulders.

"Probably."

XXX

"How's the head?" Charlotte asked wryly, a small smile playing about her lips. James shrugged.

"Fine," he replied. He was suddenly seized with the urge to tell her otherwise, to detail his gruesome night in the hospital, to tell her that his head ached, so that her eyes would turn to him and she'd frown with concern.

"So, I have a question," he said instead, carefully examining the way she responded. They were in the trophy room, and as there was a lazy atmosphere clinging to them, so without magic, their cleaning was moving at a glacial pace.

Finally, Charlotte tilted her head up to indicate that she was listening, not taking her eyes off of a heavy shield in her arms.

James bit his lip, unsure of how to start. Something had been bugging him since they'd been in detention, and he'd finally figured out what it was. And he didn't want to bother her with it, but it was starting to nag at him.

"You said in the forest that your dad doesn't know about magic," he said slowly. The effect was instantaneous. Her soft smile slide from her face so suddenly, and James felt almost ashamed of being responsible for such a change in a person's face. He could have sworn her face went pale, and her eyes searched the floor; he thought for a second she was blinking back tears.

When she spoke, she sounded cold. "Is that your question?"

Taken aback, James carried on. "Well, you said he's going to marry a Muggle."

"I did."

"So . . . You pretend you're a Muggle?"

No reply.

"So you have to . . . live like a Muggle?"

"I suppose I do," Charlotte said, croaking a little bit. When he didn't say anything further, she peered over at him. But he was choosing his words carefully, weighing up his options to get what he wanted.

"So essentially, you're a Muggle," James said pridefully, unable to stop himself smirking. She looked like she was considering that for a minute; James waited. Charlotte swallowed eventually, looking down at the award she was polishing.

"Come on, Muggle, answer me," James said with a laugh.

Her mouth twisted into something that looked like a grim smile to James. All she did was scratch her nose. James scowled to himself - that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her to retort; he wanted to see the red blotches on her cheeks and that gleam in her eye like the one he had seen once before. This Charlotte was reserved and meek, but he had caught a glimpse of someone bold and uncaring, someone who said what she felt, who wasn't afraid to snap back at him when he bloody well deserved it.

She had no fear when she was in the forest. And James couldn't help but like that Charlotte a whole lot better.

"Come on, Alexander," James muttered, shuffling closer to her and taking the shield out of her hands. "Say something. Talk back. Like you did in the forest," he murmured. Her mouth parted in surprise, and after a second, she frowned.

He had _liked _how she had shouted at him, her face full of colour and her eyes nearly burning with emotion. He sighed, still waiting for her to say something. "Say anything," he said eventually. He didn't know why he was pushing her. He didn't know if it would torment her, or whether he was really just looking to provoke a reaction. But he did know that he wanted to see another glimmer of whoever it was that was in the forest with him.

He thought he almost saw it for a second. She chewed on her lip and blinking, looking like she was torn in half. After a moment, she cleared her throat. She opened her mouth and closed it again, very clearly at a loss. Eventually she raised one eyebrow at him. "You said you didn't like the chatty ones," she said coldly.

James blanched, staring at her. He vaguely recalled saying that, what he was sure was months ago. For a start, he hadn't expected her to remember that - he only barely remembered himself. Why _had _she remembered something like that? And what had that got to do with anything anyway? It was only a throwaway comment, and it wasn't like he had expected her to hold it against him. Besides, she _wasn't _chatty when he'd said that.

"Maybe I've changed my mind," he said hotly, crossing his arms - mainly because he wasn't sure of what to say. She stared at him, trying to figure out what he'd just said. Even _he _didn't know what he'd just said. It was impossible to read her expression, but if he was right about what she was thinking, then he was almost as hard to figure out as she was. But he doubted she was having a harder time than he was trying to do just that. He swallowed, feeling his face go hot when he realized they'd said nothing, just stared, for at least a minute.

To his surprise, she rolled her eyes. After a second, she took his arm and pushed back his sleeve to check the time on his watch.

"We've been here here hours," she muttered lowly, clearing her throat distractedly as she stood. "We'd better ..." She trailed off, and didn't even finish her sentence, leaving in a rush.

XXX

James didn't go back to the common room for hours. It was pretty late to be out, and if he thought that nothing else would surprise him that night, he was wrong. He ran into Albus on the seventh corridor.

"Up late, aren't we?" he said, raising his eyebrows when he saw his brother.

"I could say the same thing to you," retorted Al, smirking.

"What are _you _doing?" said James quickly, narrowing his eyes.

"Going for a walk," replied Al defensively. "What are you up to?"

James' face fell. "I'm looking for Sophie. Michael told me she needed to talk to me, but I can't find her . . ." He trailed off, deciding against confiding in his brother how much he never wanted to see her face again. Sure, he had been 'looking for her' but that really meant he had been aimlessly wandering the corridors for hours, replaying the evening's events over and over again in his head.

"James, is she -" Al grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's not your girlfriend, is she?"

James repressed a shudder at the very thought. "No, she's not," he said quietly, wondering was that vomit rising in his throat. "Why?"

"Well," Al shrugged his shoulders, looking awkward. "I mean . . . I don't know her or anything, you obviously know her a lot better than I do. And maybe you think she's lovely, I don't know. But I guess I don't really like her . . ." he muttered, looking at James like he was afraid he had something wrong.

James laughed. "Yeah, well. I agree with you. Actually, I think she's insane," he told Al, who raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, she's really clingy and she thinks we're in love. I think she's a little obsessed with me."

Albus rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "You say that about every single girl." _Not every girl,_ James thought to himself.

"No, I mean actually obsessed," James insisted. "Like, crazy, screws-loose, mental, berserk, banana-throwing-monkey crazy."

"Banana-throwing-monkey?" Al repeated, throwing an odd look at his older brother, who shrugged. Albus laughed. "You might want to get out of there," he told him.

"You have no idea," muttered James. He'd been hoping that he could sort of shrug her off easily, when he eventually did find her.

"Good luck with that," Al said cheerfully, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he passed.

"See you later," James muttered sullenly over his shoulder. He heard Albus laughed before he rounded the corner.

It wasn't Sophie that he found, about a half an hour later. It was _her. _In a disused classroom. And not just that - crying. James' stomach squirmed; he had never dealt very well with the waterworks, and he had a lot of experience with artistically escaping when girls starting to cry. Half of him screamed to get out of there before she noticed, and surely she wouldn't be happy to find him there. But there was another part of him - a part that had remained oddly quiet up to now - that was keeping him routed to the spot.

And there was one thing he had to ask her, because he had a strange feeling the answer would be Wood. And he might just love the chance to punch Wood in the face. "Who made you cry, Alexander?"

She glanced up, shooting him a dirty look. "What is it to you?" she snapped. "Want to send them flowers?"

James snorted. "No, I need to punch them for usurping my position," he told her coolly. And it was the truth too. "It's my job to make you cry, remember?" he said, with a small smile.

"Very funny," she muttered. Hey, at least she was talking.

He rolled his eyes. "Take a joke, will you?"

She looked up at him properly, but her hair fell over her face. "What - that's what it's been for the last four years?" she said quietly. "A harmless joke?" When James didn't say anything, she shook her head. "Yeah, easy for you to say."

He ignored that. "Come on, who made you cry?"

"You don't want to know, and I don't want to tell you," she replied. He could see it, written clearly across her face - _I am not going to discuss how emotionally distraught I am, not with you. Not in a million years. _But he raised his eyebrows, and though she looked like she could hardly believe herself, her face faltered.

* * *

Sorry this chapter's a teeny bit on the crummy side! And if you've got any other feedback, I'd love to hear that too! Pretty please!


	17. Lately Lately Lastly

Don't own it, happy reading! Chapter title is taken from "How Did I Get Here" by Meg and Dia. I don't know why I chose it. It seemed to stick in my head for this chapter, so I guess I just went with in the end. "How Did I Get Here" seemed a bit long-winded for some reason. So. Don't own the words, don't own the books, don't own the characters, don't own the song. I don't own anything. And I'm aware that this is slightly shorter, but . . . I have no excuse. It's just shorter. Okay, done. Onward!

* * *

**Lately Lately Lastly**

Charlie had traipsed back to the common room after detention, her mind still spinning and her hands still trembling, clammy and cold. She couldn't remember getting back to the common room, her mind was swimming so much, until she was at the portrait hole, still buzzing from the adrenaline that was making her hands shake. She should have spoke up for herself more often, she thought. This was the first time she had spoken her mind and felt good about it afterwards. And it felt better than good - she felt alive.

She couldn't help but be proud of herself, as she remembered the change in his expression flicker across his face. And even still, her heart still thudded when she thought of how narrowly she'd escaped . . . a disaster. She could have been hobbling back to the common room only able to see out of one eye.

Still a little shaky, she had slumped into a worn armchair, a lonely one. She suddenly felt sick - _how _could she have let herself be _scared _of him, let him walk all over her and everybody else, for such a long time? And even still, tomorrow she would do the same thing, and the very same thing the next day, and the day after that. It was a vicious cycle, and while everyone once in a while she worked up the nerve to step outside the circle for a second, she would never be brave enough to break it.

She'd been deep in thought for nearly an hour before she realized that Katie was tapping her hand tentatively, and she jerked herself back to reality.

"Something wrong?" she had croaked, as Katie settled herself cross-legged on the floor.

"Peter just sent me this," she said acidly, thrusting _yet another _letter into Charlie's lap. Charlie groaned, unsure whether she could take any more family letters, as it surely wasn't going to be good news. She took it up and scanned it, registering by merely skimming that they were unwanted at this grand wedding. Charlie let out a bitter sigh, suddenly feeling years older than she was.

Her heart leaped into her throat feebly, and her chest felt like it had been ripped down the middle. But she swallowed the lump in her throat and waved her hand dismissively.

"That's just Peter being bitter," Charlie told Katie with conviction.

"Doesn't seem like it," Katie had replied darkly. Charlie chewed on the inside of her lip.

"Why did Peter send this to _you?"_she asked. Surely Peter would have contacted Lizzie.

Katie shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe his precious twin is invited."

Charlie let out another deep sigh, feeling her chest contract. It felt like the whole world had her by the neck, forcing her to hold in her free breath painfully, until it was so excruciating that she exploded, taking the crumbling world in ashes with her.

"Look, don't worry about it," she muttered to Katie, who nodded and, to Charlie's envy, smiled and wandered off like there wasn't a weight on her shoulders.

Charlie sat and bit her lip for a few minutes after Katie had skipped away happily, until the letter was snatched out of her lap. Charlie glanced up and froze.

"What's going on?" demanded Anna, narrowing her eyes shrewdly.

"Nothing," muttered Charlie to her lap, as Anna unceremoniously dragged the coffee table over so it was facing Charlie and plonked herself down on it.

"That's just your problem, Charlie," she said. "You always pretend nothing's wrong when everything's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong," Charlie insisted, feeling the blood pool in her cheeks. Anna looked at her cynically.

"You're also a horrible liar."

"Look," Charlie snapped, swiping the letter back from Anna. "I don't need you to criticize every last detail," she said clearly, though she couldn't look directly at Anna.

Anna smirked. "Someone's been taking their confidence potion."

"Actually, I've been doing a lot better without you!" Charlie said loudly, unaware of when she had gotten to her feet. Anna jumped to her feet too.

"There's no need to lie, Charlie!" she said in an echoing, haughty voice. "I know you're miserable. If you would just apologize -"

"For what?" Charlie spat, blinking back hot, rapidly welling tears. "For you constantly trying to run my life?" And it hit her - she had never been able to say all of this to Anna when they'd been on speaking terms. "So just leave me alone, I'm doing fine without you."

Anna rolled her eyes disbelievingly, letting out a small derisive laugh that wasn't altogether convincing. people were starting to stare, but Charlie didn't really care. It hadn't been quite the same feeling as when she'd been talking to Potter in detention, but she could feel her rage coursing through her veins, egging her on, making her hands start to shake again.

"Charlie, you think you can survive without me?" Anna sneered, a sneer worthy of Fred Weasley. "Then who's going to save you every day?"

Charlie clenched her fingers around her wand inside her robe pocket. But she bit her tongue after a second, and let her fingers unfurl. She turned on her feel and stormed out, desperate to escape the rapt stares of the entire common room.

This was typical Anna, she thought as she walked, pounding the floor. All she did was try and manipulate everything to suit herself. She never let Charlie be her own person. And Charlie was getting tired of letting other people tell her who she was.

She stormed into an empty classroom, letting the door slam shut behind her. And she sat up on the teacher's desk and sat there for hours.

And there she was, sitting there, mulling over all the things that had gone wrong for such a long time that tears fell onto the letter that was still crumpled in her hand. And she let them fall, until a voice had yanked her out of her own head.

_"Who made you cry, Alexander?" _

And now she was sitting here, in the dark of a unused classroom, clutching the letter, which was sporting ugly splotches from her tears that made the ink run. She felt more alone than she had felt in her entire life, and at the same time, she couldn't have felt more aware of having somebody with her, because it was James Potter leaning against the wall watching her curiously. He wasn't speaking, - and maybe it was him, or her, or the both of them - but something or someone seemed to demand a peaceful silence in the room, so he didn't have to.

She felt gentle fingers ease the letter from her grasp. She looked up and wiped the tears from her cheeks, feeling somewhat annoyed at herself. She shouldn't have let _anybody _see her cry, and above all, not James Potter.

Potter raised one eyebrow, looking unimpressed as he read the letter. "You want my advice?"

"No," Charlie mumbled.

He rolled his eyes. "I don't let anyone else affect the way I'm feeling, or tell me how to feel. You should try it sometime," he remarked, as he handed the letter back to her.

"Don't you give me that," said Charlie sullenly, her voice thick from crying. "Not _you, _not James Potter with his perfect life, and his perfect family and his perfect friends."

He snorted. "Perfect friends, right," he said sarcastically. "D'you know what my perfect friends would say if they could see me now?" he said, swallowing as he looked at the floor.

"They'd ask you why you haven't said anything horrible yet," Charlie said lightly, trying to steady her shaky breath. She felt her cheeks burn under his blazing stare. He sighed after what seemed like an age, and Charlie couldn't help but think that he looked confused, or at least that she had upset him in some way.

Charlie recoiled when he opened his mouth to speak; something about his expression made her sure that something was on the tip of his tongue, but he seemed to think better of it.

"I suppose they would," he said instead, raking his fingers through his hair a few times. "Goldstein giving you grief again?" he asked offhandedly.

"Possibly," replied Charlie cautiously, feeling a weight on her chest as she spoke.

James rolled his eyes again. "You don't need her," he said vitriolically. She's entitled."

"She's my friend," reproached Charlie defensively.

"She's not acting like it, is she?" said James with a smirk. He dragged a dress over to face her, and perched himself on it, all of four feet away from her.

Charlie spluttered for an answer that wouldn't make her feel worse about herself. When she didn't find one, James nodded. "You don't need a friend like her," he said knowingly. "She walks all over you, and you shouldn't let her."

Charlie's mouth split into a small, grim smile as she raised her eyebrow. "She's not the only one," she said accusingly.

He looked taken aback for a moment, until the corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a crooked smirk.

"At least no one walks all over me," he said proudly. "And I never pretended to be your friend, Alexander," he added dryly.

"You certainly didn't," Charlie murmured her agreement. The quiet descended around them again, until James laughed softly.

"Sure, _now _you can talk."

"I'm emotionally distraught," Charlie whined, almost automatically. "I can't be held responsible for my actions." At his skeptical look, she cowered. "And don't tell anyone either."

"Why?" demanded James sharply. When she didn't reply, he let out a dry cough. "What, don't want anybody to know that you can stand up for yourself?" No reply. "What is it?" he said. "If no one knows, you think there'll always be someone there to protect you?" Charlie blinked up at him, but still said nothing. "You think someone will always swoop in to rescue you?" he asked her coldly, sounding alarmingly bitter. "Because you have to be your own person and stand up for yourself sooner or later."

Charlie's mouth parted in surprise at the truth, and the hurt evoked by his words. The worst part was she had been thinking the exact same thing not even two hours ago. But hearing it so harshly, so bluntly, and from someone who had never wasted his time trying to help her before - it sounded so much worse. She sounded so much more helpless, so much more credulous.

But she felt the same way that he was talking about. She didn't _need _him to tell her all of that. And still, here he was telling her all of that, because she hadn't been able to do anything about it herself, not having heard the cold, black-and-white truth from someone else. And what was worse, someone who didn't even like her.

She felt useless. She couldn't be her own person without someone harshly telling her to be. It seemed to twisted, and so hopeless.

She looked at the ground, letting her legs swing. He could feel his eyes on her as he waited for a reaction. She swallowed the lump in her throat, aware of the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The silence this time was not comfortable and peaceful; it had suddenly grown harsh and awkward.

Charlie cleared her throat. "So we've covered me." He looked like he didn't agree, but she went on. "What are _you _doing out so late?"

James scowled into the open air. "I was . . . looking for Sophie," he said, looking like there was a bad smell under his nose.

Charlie pulled a face and mimed vomiting. "Blech."

He raised his eyebrows. "You don't like her?" Charlie shook her head, and when she realized what she had been about to offer as an explanation, she went bright red. "What?" he said shrewdly, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Well," Charlie said slowly. "Anna and I weren't too fond of her when we were in third year."

James nodded. "Meaning Anna hated her and you agreed with her."

Charlie pressed her lips together, her breath hitching. After steadying herself with a shaky sigh, she wrinkled her nose. "Think you've got me figured out, do you?" she muttered, staring at her lap, where her hands were folded.

"Well," James said, shrugging his shoulders. "Am I right?"

Charlie stuttered for a second. "Possibly," she said slowly, ashamed to admit that this was the second time he'd guessed correctly. He grinned triumphantly, and she couldn't quash the urge to rationalize it for herself. "Well, I didn't like her either," she said. "Really!" she added, at his skeptical expression. "It was just . . . Anna did most of the talking . . . And I did most of the . . ."

"Agreeing," James supplied, nodding sagely.

"I was going to say 'listening'," said Charlie meekly.

James rolled his eyes. "So you still don't like her?"

Charlie shook her head resolutely. "Old habits die hard, I guess." He asked her why. And grinning, she launched into it. "Well, she thinks she's so fantastic! And she's so annoying, she's always in your face," Charlie said, talking animatedly, like she always could when she knew exactly what to say. "And as long as I've known her, she's been all over _anyone _that even smiles at her," she said, shaking her head and looking unimpressed.

"I know what you mean there," James mumbled, his eyes widening.

"Exactly," said Charlie excitedly. "Even with you, I mean, she's always slobbering all over you, and you don't even like her that much, you'd have to blind not to see that and -"

James cut across her. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were a little jealous," he remarked, staring into space as he thought of Sophie. Charlie knew exactly what was on his mind - that bloody deranged look she got whenever she was looking at someone she thought was in love with her.

Charlie was quiet for a few seconds, before she smiled placidly. "Well, it's a very good thing that you _do _know better then," she said wryly. "At least . . . I think you do."

James pulled a face. "Well, if it's any consolation, I wasn't going to see her because I was just dying without her," he said sarcastically.

Charlie let out a small, silent laugh. "Yeah . . . Such a consolation. At least I can die in peace now," she said, matching his sarcasm. James sighed, checking his watch.

"You know . . . We really shouldn't be out so late," he said. "Aren't you a prefect?"

She nodded and slipped off the teacher's desk. "And one more thing, Muggle," James added, wheeling back around to face her.

"Is that catching on?" she whined, frowning.

"Definitely," said James quickly. He picked up the letter that had, at some point, floated to the floor. "It isn't your job to sort out your parents' lives," he said as he handed it back to her.

"Then why does it feel like it?" Charlie retorted, scowling.

"Couldn't tell you, Muggle," he said loudly. Charlie glared at his back and followed him out of the classroom, fixing the desks before they left.

They were two steps outside the door - and Potter seemed to be headed the other way. Charlie paused, staring in confusion. And -

_"Potter and Alexander, you must be bloody joking!" _

* * *

So, for the first time ever my playlist failed me. So if the next chapter takes forever, it's because I'm trying to fix my playlist and by extension, my brain. Please let me know what you thought of this, especially the end! No seriously though, reviews really do help enormously, so if you could drop me even a little one, that would be awesome. Tell me anything - tell me what you hated, tell me your favourite paragraph, what you want to see, I'm all ears.

Oh, and guys, your reviews for the last two were amazing, I was literally in tears. I was trying to respond individually but I was just totally swamped, but you guys are literally the best (even though you made my cry). So thank you so much!


	18. In Between

I do not own Harry Potter. Also, James puts on his big boy mouth for this chapter, so beware of the swear words! I would have loved to pick up right where I left off, but planning issues got in the way. You're gonna have ta deal with it!

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**In Between**

James slumped in his seat and waited for Professor Binns to drift through the wall and instantly begin his monotonous lecture, when James was sure he would feel the brunt of a restless night come back to haunt him. The girls in the desk behind him were giggling - and this time, it wasn't so flattering. It was bloody infuriating, because it wasn't because he had just winked or said something charming. In fact, he'd ignored them. But he knew what they were bloody talking about anyway. He was fighting the urge to whirl around and snap their wands, lying as easy targets on their desks, to pieces.

He couldn't remember a time - probably because there wasn't one to speak of - when he had been in class, not only on time, but early. He had given up at around seven, after watching the dust swirl in the weak sunlight for what seemed like hours, and had crept out of the dormitory and down to breakfast by himself. It was like a whole different world; there was a whole array of unfamiliar people who regularly caught their breakfasts early, before going for a week or heading to the library. He had shoveled down his breakfast and went straight to the classroom before Fred and Michael had even rolled out of bed, hoping that he would have been able to fall asleep during class.

If wildfire spread like rumours did in that school, they'd all have been burned alive before they knew what was happening, James thought to himself. It was ridiculous; everyone was speculating for the sake of speculating. Jane Zeller was the biggest gossip known to mankind, and she was the worst person to have witnessed you coming out of an empty classroom with a girl in the evening. Just his luck, he supposed. And he also supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised - the _next _morning, everyone was convinced of... well, James didn't even know what. He had been asked the most _bizarre _questions over the last few days.

And James knew that he had started his fair share of embarrassing rumours - well, actually, he had probably started _more _than his fair share of rumours - but it was quite different when he was the subject of one.

After what seemed like forever, Fred had darted into the classroom and like a shot across the room to sit beside James.

"Jamesie, say it isn't so," he said, mockingly, dumping his books and staring at James, looking affronted.

"I told you not to call me that," James snapped, feeling himself becoming more irritable by the second. He felt his heart sink; he'd been so lucky to have it not have reached Fred's ears for a few days. He knew it couldn't have lasted forever, but it still seemed so dreadfully unjust.

"Come on," goaded Fred. "I know this place is awful for gossip, but Jane just told me you guys were _in love _or something. And this one seems a little out there. Right?" he said uncertainly.

"Of course," said Michael, swinging himself into the seat in front of James, as Max sat down quietly beside him, smirking. "He wouldn't dream of it."

"Well you tell me where it started then," retorted Fred.

"That's just Jane being bored," replied Michael dismissively.

"I think it's hilarious," commented Max, examining his nails.

"Oh do you?" said James icily.

Max shrugged. "She's a good-looking girl and she's got a pulse, which is why I wouldn't put it past you," he said, grinning. "I could believe it. Actually, it would be believable, if she wasn't so out of your league."

There was a slight pause, where Michael and Fred glanced at each other, puzzled, and James registered that, recognizing it as somewhat insulting.

"Out of my league?" James repeated incredulously, sputtering his indignation, at the same time trying to keep the smirk from his face. Max nodded somberly.

James was about to retort hotly when Fred cut across him.

"But I don't get it," he said, frowning. "Why would Jane just _say _that for no reason?"

"Same reason we would?" suggested Max.

"Yeah, but we always have _something to go on_," said Fred pointedly. "D'you remember that time I said that Kirke and Clearwater fancied each other? Two weeks later, they're in love. I was on to something," he said, a little proudly. "But this... where did she even get it out of?"

"Wait, what exactly did she say to you?" said James.

Fred shrugged his shoulders. "She asked me did I feel abandoned now that my best friend was in love."

"Did she say with who?" said James monotonously, starting to feel confused.

Fred nodded. "Alexander, of all people," he laughed, clapping James on the back. "People are mental."

"Yeah," James agreed, grumbling to himself. "Fucking mental." He massaged his throbbing temples, his thoughts drifting to what Alexander herself thought of it, rather than what Fred and Michael thought.

She strolled in with Briony and Talia, two girls in their year who, in his opinion, were much better friends that Goldstein was. A few people jeered at her, and she looked up at them like she hadn't heard a word they'd said. In fact, it was strange to say, but she didn't seem that embarrassed at all. Although, once she realized what they were talking about, her eyes met his for a second, and a pinkish tinge rose up her neck before she looked away.

It could have been worse, he thought to himself. Couldn't it?

He hadn't really thought it through, but he caught up with her after class, grabbing her arm as she was leaving so that she turned around. She didn't flush, although James could have sworn he saw that same pinkish tinge stain her cheeks again, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He opened his mouth to speak, only to realize he had nothing to say.

She smiled, grimly but knowingly. "Yeah, it's not so fun when you're the one they're talking about, is it?" she said shrewdly.

James felt like something had hit him in the chest, though he forced his features not to change. Had she read that on his face? How did she figure him out like that? She eventually blushed and he realized he was staring. They both glanced at the floor.

"Relax," she said, coolly. "The good thing about rumours is that they all disappear eventually," she said lightly, patting his shoulder consolingly. He caught her arm when she made to go again. He had to have said _something; _he wasn't about to go numb and be the idiot dummy who made a fool of himself.

"Did I - did I ever do this to you?" he asked, glancing around at a pair of girls giggling at the sight of the pair of them. What did they find so amusing? It wasn't as if they were snogging or something. Charlotte met his eyes at his question, and when she didn't look away immediately, James knew there was an understanding between them, from the look she was giving him and the one he was returning.

"Well . . . I shouldn't have," he said gruffly, breaking her gaze.

"Is that an apology?" Charlotte said wryly. He scowled and said nothing. There it was, that silent understanding.

She nodded. "'Tell anybody and I'll end you'. Right?"

"Right," he said stiffly.

"Don't worry, Potter," she said, almost coolly. He couldn't help but register the use of his last name, so coldly. "People here are earlier fascinated. You won't even notice it in a few days."

"If I had known . . ." How it felt, he'd been going to say. How it felt.

She raised her eyebrows. "Don't like the taste of your own medicine, Potter?"

He pulled a face. "This is torture," he told her. It was probably an exaggeration, but that didn't really matter.

She frowned, mockingly. "I'm not bad, am I?"

"I didn't mean it like _that_," he retorted.

"Thanks," she said sardonically, rolling her eyes.

"I didn't!" James insisted. "I just . . . I don't like everyone laughing at me like they think they know something."

She huffed. "I'm not that much of an embarrassment, relax."

He swallowed hard and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah. It could be worse."

She smiled grimly and left with Briony and Talia, who had been hovering, dubious looks on their faces. And James was left, somewhat short of breath, in an empty classroom, with the silence mocking and accusing him.

He shook himself out, and somewhere along the way to his next class, he chose to be convinced that she was right and that everyone would forget about it in a week. It stayed with him all day - in the common room much later, he was staring into the fire, the flame flickering like his insides were. He glanced over to where she was playing Exploding Snap with her friends - the good friends, at least. She was laughing, so unaffected. He had never realized she was so strong. And how was he supposed to have known that? She never acted strong, she never _showed _any strength. But there she was, showing it now.

He went to bed with his head still swimming, and at last, before he drifted off, he finally allowed himself to believe her.

XXX

But she was wrong. November dissolved into December; the weeks blurred and the edges faded into one another as each week slid into the next, and nothing seemed to change.

No one seemed to get tired of it, saving them a 'couple's desk' or asking them were they missing each other, no one seemed to think it was getting old that every time they were in the same vicinity, someone would shoot them suggestive looks or titter, louder and louder all the time. No one seemed to get bored of asking were they going to have a private 'chat' before practice whenever they happened to leave for Quidditch practice at the same time.

What was remarkable to James - though he would never admit it - was how unaffected Charlotte seemed. She acted like she couldn't hear it, and on a bad day, all she would do was throw them a small, grim but graceful smile.

He wished he could say he didn't mind, but it was driving him insane. It wasn't nearly as much fun from the receiving end. And he had never been on the receiving end of a single taunt - apart from Teddy', who didn't count - and anytime somebody had tried in the past, he was ready with a well-placed hex. But he couldn't hex _everybody, _and even if he could, he would have been serving his detentions until he was twenty. Altogether, he wasn't handling it so well.

What was worse was that James knew that, if it had been anybody but him, he wouldn't have wasted a second thought, and joined in, in a heartbeat. He wasn't going to say that he wasn't surprised at himself for feeling so badly when he thought of that, since he actually did. But he kept that to himself.

What was almost even worse was Sophie's reaction. Her talons constantly clutched on his arm, and even when they were on opposite sides of the room, he could feel her eyes on him, burning holes in the back of his head. She seemed to have convinced herself that they were in love, and was now watching him every second of every day, having graciously 'forgiven him'.

What James considered the worst part was Fred. He had thought it was funny for about an hour, and after that, he became easily infuriated. He constantly, aggressively sought assurances that there was no truth to the rumour. James was almost pleading with Fred the first few times, but when his clipped answers didn't seem to be satisfactory for the irritable Fred, James became exasperated.

"I've told you a thousand times," he repeated, again and again. "Nothing there. I swear."

"Are you sure?" Fred would prod.

"Yes," James snapped furiously.

"Well, it hasn't died yet," Fred replied. "And it's been weeks mate."

He didn't know how to make Fred happy. He said there was no truth - leaving out the fact that he _had _been caught leaving the same empty classroom as her - in it, which didn't seem to mollify Fred. But when Sophie was hanging out of his arm, James tried to tell him there was nothing there either. And Fred didn't seem to take anything James said seriously. He didn't even know what Fred wanted him to say, who he wanted him to talk about.

Things became volatile and rocky between the pair of them, both of whom were easily set off and liable to fly off the handle at any second.

"I just want to make sure," became Fred's new catchphrase, and James found himself resisting the urge to punch someone - and it didn't _have _to be Fred, although he would have preferred it that way - right in the face, as hard as he could.

It seemed Fred and Sophie weren't the only ones having a little trouble letting the blasted story go over their head.

Anna Goldstein slipped out in front of him after Potions one day, in what James was surprised to find was the last week of lessons before the holidays.

"Easy there, Potter," she said warningly, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. He raised his eyebrows and looked at her, unimpressed.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded. James look a second before he replied.

"Well, I'm so glad you made yourself so clear," he said sardonically. "It would have been so frustrating if you'd been vague and cryptic."

She scowled. "With Charlie?"

James smirked. "Jealous?"

"Of what?" she said sharply.

He rolled his eyes. "So you care now?"

"Of course I do," Anna replied hotly.

"That's not the way I heard it," he told her tantalizingly, greatly enjoying how she seemed to squirm with discomfort at his words.

"Oh really?" she said, doing her best to seem convincingly defensive and cold. He wasn't buying it. "And where on earth would you hear about that?"

"She told me," James said simply. Anna faltered.

"She told you?" Anna said hoarsely, staring intently at him like she was searching his face for the hint of a lie. At his nod, her eyebrows knitted together. "Why would she tell _you _anything?" said Anna cuttingly. "She hates you!"

James shrugged. "Evidently not as much as she hates you," he said, with a malicious grin.

Anna was shaking her head. "She wouldn't - she wouldn't."

James said nothing, but raised his eyebrows.

"So . . . is it true then?" she said in a hushed voice, trying hard to act like it wouldn't bother her and she was only asking offhandedly, but her intense stare gave her away. "You two've got . . . something?"

James rolled his eyes. "What do you think, Goldstein? I know you're not _that _thick." He couldn't ignore the relief that flooded her expression.

She let out a heavy sigh. "Well, don't," she warned, her teeth clenched. "Don't go near her. She doesn't need that."

James laughed mirthlessly. "Bullshit," he said, ignoring the scandalized look on her face. "You think _you _know what she needs? I see how you are, Goldstein." Anna looked affronted, but once James had started, his tongue was working of its own accord, and he couldn't stop the words spilling out of his mouth, like it was making up for all the lost time not saying anything hurtful to anybody. "You think _I'm _bad news, what you do to her is way worse You're much worse for her than I am," he said, ignoring the defensiveness in his own voice. She looked like she was torn between crying and hitting him.

"Don't look at me like that, like you're so innocent," he said coolly. "There's no need to deny it, you're not that great a liar. So don't pretend that you're concerned that _I'll_ hurt her. There's hardly any danger of that."

Anna opened her mouth to speak. He shoved past her, careful to ram into her shoulder. "But you," he said, turning back to look at her. "You're a different story. You can't help but tear her down, you destroy her every day of her life," he pointed out. Anna looked stunned beyond speech, and James wasn't even finished.

"And she told me all that herself," James added. "So don't come to me acting like you're worried, or that you're scared of what _I'll _do, or even that you care about her at all," he spat, inexplicably angry at Anna for something that wasn't meant to mean so much. But it did. He wanted his words to hurt, for her to suffer at them - she deserved it. She couldn't just pretend she cared about something like that, and especially not _someone. _

"Don't -" Anna started to say.

James started laughing again before she was finished. "You're only upset because people are talking about her more than you. She's the new Little Miss Popular and you can't handle that. So do us all a favour, and just shut up."

James turned to stalk out of the room.

"If I didn't know better," came her voice, cold and accusing. "I'd say you cared about her."

James wheeled around, words half formed to tell her not to be delusional. He cut himself off, frowning at Anna, who smirked.

"I don't know what you mean," said James. "You'd annoy anybody."

Anna snorted. "You're gone awfully red, Potter."

"Shut up, Goldstein," he snapped. "You don't have a clue what you're talking about." It was all he could say; his heart rate had quickened and he swallowed a lump in his throat. She couldn't possibly be right. But he was starting to think, for the first time, that for once in her life Anna was right on the ball with this one.

"Maybe _you're _the one who doesn't know what they're talking about," Anna said coolly, snatching up her bag and sauntering over to him. She smirked up at him as she passed, and James glowered at her, wishing he could say something to put her in her place. But for once, words seemed to fail him. There was nothing he could think of to say that was right, that would hurt her. That he could honestly say and not have it give him away. Because no matter what he said, she'd know better.

She let out a little laugh and stalked out. Fuming, he took a second to regain his composure and then followed. He made it two steps outside the dungeon before he stopped, his mouth falling open and the colour draining from his face.

There was was, leaning against the wall. She looked around when he pummeled the door open, and raised her eyebrows innocently. James didn't have to speak. He could tell straight away from the look on her face - she had heard every last word of James and Anna's conversation.

He was rooted to the spot, waiting for her to speak. Waiting for something to happen, even praying for something, anything, to happen. It felt like the air had been drained out of his lungs, that time had stood still and he was just waiting for something to happen, stuck in this in-between, so that he could finally breathe again.

* * *

You know that poll I put up a few weeks back? I'm just gonna leave it up until I'm done or I make up my mind, so if you haven't voted, head on over and have your say! And review, that would be totally awesome. I know this chapter was kind of like, holding on by its fingertips. But that'll pretty much be explained in the next one. Which isn't going to get written without a few words from you guys.

Okay, I'll stop bribing you all now. Thanks for reading!


	19. Truth

I don't own this. Just taking characters for a spin. Erm, enjoy? Try at least.

* * *

**Truth**

Charlie had stumbled back to lean against the wall by the time that Anna stormed out of the room. She stopped short when she saw Charlie, who knew that Anna didn't know whether to sneer or to smirk.

"You two really have got a lot to work out," she muttered bitterly, stomping away. Charlie frowned - had he already left? She just needed her bag, and Andrew was already waiting for her to start their patrol. So far, she was hating the holiday season. They had been forced to put up all the Christmas decorations - and it was a very large castle - and the dark nights and high spirits meant that she was spending more time patrolling the corridors than she spent doing anything else.

A second later, James stormed out of the room in a similar fashion to Anna. She bit her lip, hoping against hope that perhaps the both of them could be spared some embarrassment.

He cleared his throat. "She didn't . . . she didn't say anything to you, did she?" he asked, avoiding her gaze. There it was - blood flooding to her cheeks, and she felt like her face was burning so much, she'd combust at any second.

And it struck her, like a weight hitting her chest - she could mumble that she didn't know what he was talking about, and act as if anything Anna or he had said had fallen on deaf ears. But they _hadn't _fallen on deaf ears, and she didn't want to pretend they had. Her heart wouldn't allow her to shy away from that.

"She didn't have to," she replied with a sigh. He stared at her for a second, and Charlie could see beneath the gleam in his eyes that he was thinking hard, trying to figure out the way she could him.

She wasn't about to act like she hadn't just heard any of that - and it appeared that he wasn't about to either. The truth was written plainly on his face, she could tell. Whatever the truth was . . . That was another day's work, she supposed.

"Right," he muttered, clearing his throat again. "Look," he sighed. "Don't - don't lose sleep on it, okay?"

He looked up at her with a small, crooked smile. And for a second she felt affronted and annoyed - and then she softened at the look on his face. She could have been malignant and wretched about this. But she wasn't going to.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said, nodding her head.

"What are you doing down here anyway?" James asked, in what was his best attempt at an offhanded tone.

"I forgot my bag," Charlie explained, feeling the blood stain her cheeks again at her words. Forgetting her _bag _of all things . . . She pushed open the door to the classroom and scanned it for her bag, while he leaned in the doorway. She grimaced when she'd found it. "I don't even know how I managed to lose it . . ." she mumbled sheepishly.

"It's a funny world, innit?" After a slight pause, Charlie nodded, swallowing. "Coming?" he asked. Charlie shrugged.

"Andrew's waiting for me," she told him, and pulled a reproving face when James mimed vomiting. "What on earth are you -"

"Oh, Wood is so irritating," James said loudly. "How do you stick him?"

Charlie raised her eyebrows. "He's perfectly -"

"He's not," James cut across her, grinning. "And you'd better watch yourself, Alexander. The boy's really carrying a torch, if you catch my drift?" Charlie's face changed at his words, but she rolled her eyes dismissively. James shrugged. "You're out of his league anyway," he muttered.

"Am I?" replied Charlie, in a dry, sardonic tone.

James shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well, you know what I mean," he said quickly.

They had reached the Entrance Hall; he was heading into the Great Hall, and Andrew was waiting for her at the top of the first flight of stairs. She managed a weak smile at him, not really knowing what to do with herself.

"Oh, Charlotte?"

She turned around, her foot on the first step. "It's Charlie," she said automatically, and then went furiously red.

He rolled his eyes. "Listen, we're having a final practice before the holidays tomorrow. And," he added, glancing furtively over her shoulder. "I suppose you can bring Wood as well." Charlie bit back her scowl, feeling somehow like she'd suffered a disappointing anticlimax.

"Isn't that a bit late?" she asked - tomorrow would be the last day of term.

He shook his head. "Don't you trust your captain?" he joked. She raised her eyebrows.

"Am I supposed to answer that?" she said dryly.

"No," James replied, shrugging his shoulders. She loitered on the last step for a second, swinging out of the banister.

"Well?" she said eventually. He looked at her with confusion.

"Well what?"

She narrowed her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush again. She half-wished that Andrew wasn't waiting at the top of the stairs for her, and that people passing them were casting curious looks their way. "You haven't said anything horrible," she said slowly.

His eyes widened in surprise, and he sighed after a minute. "I don't really feel like it," he said lightly, with a weak, crooked smile. "Why?" he asked, when Charlie bit her lip. "Did you want me to?"

"No," said Charlie quickly. "No . . ."

"Good," James said with a nod. "So I won't." Charlie nodded back numbly, and James shoved his hands in his pockets again before going into the Great Hall. Feeling an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, Charlie ran to meet Andrew at the top of the stairs.

"What was that all about?" he asked immediately, but Charlie just shrugged.

"He was just telling me there's a practice tomorrow." Andrew looked at her like he didn't believe her, but she wasn't saying anything. She couldn't help but feel like she had just witnessed a miracle, something that was real and strangely wonderful. And she wasn't going to go explain that to Andrew Wood.

She didn't say much for the night. She didn't mention why she was so quiet, and she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice Andrew's furtive glanced towards her. Feeling alright - not feeling bad about herself - was a new and alarming feeling. And it was with alarming and weighty shock that she realized that, for the first time in forever, James Potter hadn't made her miserable. In fact, she nearly would have said he'd done the opposite.

The strange sensation lasted up until dinner, and when Briony asked what was making her so lost, she was poised to reply and explain - until Andrew decided to swoop into the seat beside her. She shut her mouth again, and returned the broad smile he shot her. Talia and Briony glanced at her - but something stopped her. She was more than reluctant to say what she'd been about to say in front of Andrew Wood. Come to think of it, it was the last thing she wanted.

XXX

Charlie gasped and clamped her hands to her face, horror-struck. "I'm so sorry," she moaned, as James swore and spat on the ground.

"It's alright," James said thickly, waving his hand in her general direction, although Charlie had the suspicion that he couldn't really see. "I'll just get Madam Pomfrey to –" he broke off, pinching his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. "Blimey," he muttered. "What did you do?"

"I'll go with you," Charlie mumbled, unable to take her eyes off of him. She was almost scared that he was about to keel over or puke. It was so bizarre – _she _had accidentally caused harm to James Potter and was apologizing. The reversal was a regular occurrence, at least it had been for the first four years of her Hogwarts career. She stared at him guiltily while he swore under his breath some more. He peeked at her through one eye.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," he muttered exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed again, clutching onto the banister of the stairs for support. Even _she _was getting light-headed.

He chuckled. "Look, just stop. If you say that one more time, I'll hex you back twice as bad. Now you coming, or not? Because I can't really see."

Charlie nodded sheepishly, and turned him in the right direction. "Come on," she said to her shoes, feeling her face go bright red. Well, at least he couldn't see her. She steered him, keeping a firm grip on his arms.

"Blimey," he muttered. "I never knew you could do that, I wouldn't have gone near you with a Whomping Willow."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Charlie burst out. He chuckled ahead of him. Flushing again, she opened the door for him to the hospital wing, where the matron and matron-in-training were attending to the students staying there overnight.

Madam Meadowes was a young girl in her twenties, with cherry red cheeks and platinum blonde hair that curled under her ear like they did it in the fifties. She always wore bright red lipstick. She was only twenty-three or twenty-four at most, but she was still very glamorous for a school matron. With Madam Pomfrey getting on in her age, Madam Meadowes was becoming more and more hands-on in the hospital wing, and James was no stranger to the hospital wing. Charlie knew from observation that he was reckless, and things that other, sane people would consider dangerous were things that he thought to be good fun. And a lot of the time, that resulted in the hospital wing.

James sat up on a bed, and Madam Meadowes eyed him bemusedly, starting to question him on what he'd done now. Charlie stood awkwardly and observed the scene; James grinned and beckoned for her to sit beside him, before he began to explain that Charlie had hit him with a well-placed jinx that he didn't even know she was capable of.

Charlie hauled herself onto the bed while James laughed, and even Madam Meadowes chuckled cheerfully as James explained what had happened. Sighing to herself, and winking at Charlie as if to tell her she'd done a good job, Madam Meadowes set about rectifying it and reducing his nose to its normal size and stopping the bleeding.

Swinging his legs, James blew a raspberry. "I think you know my cousin," he said to Madam Meadowes, his eyes glinting with that mischief that made his eyes twinkle. "Teddy Lupin?"

Madam Meadowes nodded. "Yes, I knew him while he was here," she said casually.

James smirked, sticking his tongue out between his teeth. Madam Meadowes deposited a bottle of funny smelling stuff and a tissue into Charlie's idle hands, and Charlie took them and held them out, watching James in his attempt to wreak havoc quietly.

"I heard you knew him _quite _well," James continued. "Like, _really _well."

Madam Meadowes shot him a warning glance, as if to say 'don't even think about', patted his cheek and told him he could go. "And try to make sure the next time I see you isn't for inflated head syndrome."

Charlie smiled, watching James for his reaction. He made her laugh, just by saying something stupid to the school nurse or acting like a buffoon. He was interesting.

Charlie followed James, still falling over herself apologizing.

They had barely gone up one flight of stairs when James skidded to a halt. "Look," he said forcefully, wheeling around in the middle of a deserted corridor, dimly lit by the torches that lined the walls. "Cut it out, alright? Please stop apologizing."

Charlie pressed her lips together to silence herself, blinking up at him. It was weird, but his solemn expression, the little frown lines in his forehead, his angry voice echoing throughout the corridor – she realized she was resisting the urge to _laugh,_of all things.

"I swear," said James, tugging her along by her sleeve as he began to walk again. "If you say you're sorry one more time,I _will_hex you worse than you got me. Don't!" he added threateningly, when Charlie opened her mouth to obviously apologize again.

"Alright," she conceded, chuckling. "It won't happen again."

"What?" he retorted. "Apologizing or hexing me?"

"Both," replied Charlie in a small voice, grimacing. "Have you noticed that our noses are getting a terribly bad bruising this term?" she pointed out, making him laugh.

"Yes, I have actually," he replied.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Perhaps we should just stay away from each other and each other's nose?" she suggested.

James shook his head at the suggestion, and grinned. "It was one good hex though," he remarked. "It probably would have been better if I hadn't been on the receiving end of it, but all the same," he said, shrugging, grinning across at her. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"D'you think so?" Charlie smiled to herself. He walked a few paces in front of her, going backwards so he could face her.

"Yeah," he chortled. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile at me before," he told her, blinking.

Charlie snorted as she ran her fingers through her hair. "Well, you hardly gave me much of a reason to, did you?"

James laughed softly, looking at his shoes. "I guess not."

Charlie swallowed – her chest was oddly painful, contracting strangely, and her heart was oddly constricted, like it had jumped too far up into her throat, and was beating in such a bizarre, rapid way that it hurt her chest. "Are you . . . being nice to me?" she said quietly, half-jokingly.

He didn't reply; he blinked and raised his eyebrows, looking deep in thought.

Charlie smiled placidly. "Well, would you rather I never smiled?" she breathed. James' expression changed. He stopped walking suddenly, frowning at her. Charlie skidded to a halt, narrowing her eyes. He grabbed her arm and tugged her towards him, and she was only vaguely aware of his other arm snaking around her waist before he kissed her. And she forgot who she was, and who he was. She forgot everything.

Her arms twined around his neck, just as he pulled away, even for a moment's breath - but in that moment, his eyebrows furrowed and he swallowed. Still feeling electric shocks jolt through her body, she didn't try to disentangle herself; she could see a million things running through his head behind his eyes, but at the same time, he seemed so stunned, he was almost paralyzed. He was still so close to her; Charlie knew that if he spoke, his whispers would have touched his lips off hers again.

She knew he didn't really _want _to stop, and she knew it well because his face was saying exactly how she felt, like a mirror that only reflected the truth back at you. But he'd remembered _who he was. _And 'who he was' was required to act a certain way, lest the world come tumbling down in fire and ashes. And 'who he was' didn't go around kissing who she was.

But it didn't feel over. Such a fleeting thing, and yet remarkable how colossal it seemed, now much of a difference it seemed to make; her whole body was still tingling, with electric shocks still shooting through her - like a second had brought a lifetime and its worth of changes with it.

Even has he released her waist and gulping, pushed her away from him, which sent one last burst of electricity coursing through her veins, she couldn't help but think how strange it was. How strange to look at someone - and then to look again not all of ten seconds later, and feel completely different, think differently. She felt like she was looking at a whole other person.

The muttered a rushed explanation, and darted in opposite directions, and Charlie was two floors higher before she began to think again, before she remembered who _she _was. And who _she _was should have been angry. What on earth had she had been doing? What were _they _doing? She should have been absolutely furious, so furious she was ready to kill. And while she fit the bill of confusion, she wasn't upset. Why wasn't she angry?

And a worse question - what exactly was she, if not angry?

XXX

It wasn't as if _she _had done anything. And it had happened so fast, it wasn't rightly like she could have done anything to stop it if she'd wanted to. If she _had _wanted to.

But she hadn't, she thought to herself numbly. And nothing changed the fact that now . . . Though she couldn't look him in the eye, she _wanted _him to kiss her again, she wanted to feel the pressure of his mouth on hers again. She was scaring herself. Didn't she know who she was? Didn't she know how ridiculous she would have sounded?

From looking at Charlie, you would never have known that a flurry of snow swirled in the air, incessantly attacking the window that she was staring out of. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were inflamed and her jumper was suffocating her. She had dragged off her scarf to stop the scratchy wool strangling her - it now lay across Talia's cat, which was curled on Briony's lap. It had been the longest train journey of her life.

It was hard to believe that, at this time yesterday, Charlie had been at Quidditch practice, up in the air without a care in the world, the only place where she could leave all her problems behind her. It seemed so _long ago. _Everything seemed so different. Even _she _seemed so different.

"Charlie?" came an oddly distant, tentative voice. She jerked and looked around at Briony and Talia's concerned expressions.

"You okay?" asked Talia.

Charlie nodded, cursing herself when she inadvertently moistened her lip as she smiled encouragingly - she could still taste him on her mouth. And she could still feel her skin burning where it had come to contact with his. What was _happening _to her?

"You're all red," said Talia shrewdly, narrowing her eyes.

Charlie shrugged. "It's warm," she said quickly, glancing out at the window, which served as a blatant contradiction to her. She laid one cheek on the cold window in the hope of cooling herself down, wishing she could go out in the snow-coveted landscape, where it would be refreshingly cold, and where she could bury herself in the snow for a little while.

She saw Briony and Talia exchange a meaningful, skeptical glance through the window, though she pretended she didn't. When it all got too much and Charlie was convinced that her head was about to burst, she laid her head back on the seat and let her eyes fall shut, ignoring the looks the girls were shooting her.

Her mind seemed so full, even as she considered explaining to Briony and Talia - once they had decided that they would badger her until the train stopped.

How funny, how she could do nothing but think, but seem to be thinking nothing at all.

* * *

How dearly I would have loved to cut you all off right after, but I decided to give you all a break from cliffhangers... Sort of. And for the record, this was the hardest thing to write EVER, and you guys really don't know what I went through to get it written! So . . . Feel sorry for me! Or something.


	20. Wicked Game

I don't own this. Just taking characters for a spin. Erm, enjoy? Try at least. Title is taken from the song of the same name by Chris Isaak (though I was working from the James Vincent McMorrow version). Happy reading!

* * *

**Wicked Game**

What the ruddy hell did he think he was doing? There was a voice inside his head, screaming at him for being so stupid, for being so reckless. What in the name of Merlin had he been thinking? But that was just it - he _hadn't _been thinking. It was the way she smiled, he thought now, as he ignored Lily's badgering to help her finish putting up her personal decorations. And it was . . . the way they were talking, and it was just - he was just caught up in the moment, that was all. It was just a stupid mistake, and after Christmas, everything would go back to normal. _He'd _go back to normal, more importantly. She had brought it up herself - he _hadn't _felt like saying anything horrible to her. In fact, he had felt like the opposite. And if Fred or anyone else had been to say something, he had the strangest fear that he'd be the one stopping them.

But all he needed was some time, and after Christmas, they would both forget about one little mistake. It had been on what he could only call the most bizarre, abnormal night of his life, one completely detached from reality _anyway. _

But there was another voice in his head - which was curiously growing stronger - that pointed out that he would have done it again if he was given the chance. In fact, he _wanted _to.

"James!" Lily's sharp voice cut into his thoughts.

"What?" he said instinctively, a little more defensively than he should have. After all, _she _didn't know what was going on in his head. Who was he kidding - even _he _didn't know what was going on inside his head.

She placed her hands, reminding James almost disturbingly of their mother. "What's wrong with you today?" she demanded. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

James looked up at his sister in confusion. "I look like what?"

Lily went bright red. "Aunt Hermione's been showing me her Muggle books," she explained. "And you look like you've seen a ghost is a way of telling person that they look like they've gotten a fright."

He rolled his eyes. "You wanna get your head out of those books and back in the real world, Lil," he told her, pulling at the loose threads of his mother's cushions.

"Well, what's wrong?" she said quickly. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," James snorted.

She frowned, somehow knowingly, it appeared to James, and she sat down beside him on the couch, her feet curled up under her. "You're quiet," she remarked.

"You should try it sometime," he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. She wrinkled her nose.

"Come on," she prodded, poking his side.

James shook his head and tugged on a lock of her hair. "Nothing. Lot on my mind, that's all."

"He's just lovesick, that's all," said Al loudly, sitting down with a platter of profiteroles on the couch opposite. Lily's face lit up, her eyes as wide as Galleons. James let out a loud groan - these two weren't going to start this, not now.

"Really?" Lily gushed, clapping her hands.

James rolled his eyes. "No," he said forcefully. "I don't _get _lovesick." He was James Potter, and to be lovesick, you had to fall in love. And being James Potter meant you didn't do that . . . At least, he thought it did.

Teddy, who had been buried in a book in the corner up to this point, lifted his head. "What, James?" he grinned. "A little lovestruck?"

"Who's a little lovestruck?" called their father from the kitchen. James let out a groan and yelped back, "No one!" as the other three shouted his name.

James glared at Albus. "I thought you were on my side!" he said accusingly. "_Et tu, Brute?_" He aimed a pillow at Albus, who ducked and laughed.

"It's not my fault! The whole school's been talking about it," Al said with a chuckle.

"Oh," muttered James, rolling his eyes. His chest relaxed in relief - at least they hadn't been picking around in his brain. And Lily _did _have an annoying unfailing habit of reading James' expression expertly. But this - this was just that silly rumour again. And that was better than Lily reading it on his face, like she was trying to do at that very moment. "That's not true," he told them curtly. " Idle speculation."

Al raised an eyebrow, and Lily narrowed her eyes. "So what - the idea just sprung out of a hole in the ground?" she snorted.

James sniffed. "Not that it's any of your business," he said haughtily. "But I swear, it's just a rumour."

At least, it _had _been just a rumour up until two days ago. That must have been what did it, he thought. All this talk falling on his ears must have gotten to him, eventually, without him even realizing. It must have been an instinctive reaction - surely it hadn't been _him _in control. It just didn't make any sense.

"So who is this misfortunate creature?" asked Teddy. James clamped his mouth shut, and Lily looked enquiringly at Albus, who waved his hand dismissively.

"Charlotte something, right James?" he said, with a mischievous wink.

James glared. "I think I'm rubbing off on you, mate," he said darkly, careful to evade the question. Teddy met James' eyes, with his eyebrows raised and a small smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth.

Teddy viewed the scene without saying another word, seemingly watching with keen anticipation. Albus opened his mouth to speak again - no doubt to point out that James _hadn't _answered the question -

_"Are you lot going to sit about or are you going to make yourselves useful for a change?!" _came a frustrated outburst from the kitchen. With a universal groan, the four of them slowly dragged themselves to their feet. Teddy threw James a look before James left, a look that made James very uneasy, as it clearly said: '_I'm not finished with you just yet.' _

A second later, Lily echoed this. "This isn't over, James," she told him sweetly.

Ginny called for them again, to help with all the preparations for a change, cutting off James' reply.

"What has she got a bloody wand for?" mumbled Albus, rolling his eyes. "If all she's going to do is enslave us instead."

James stifled a yawn and trudged into the kitchen behind his sister. "Don't let her catch you saying that," he told Albus coolly. "I really think I am rubbing off on you."

"That doesn't sound very good," said their father, eyeing the two boys, who smiled innocently.

"Right," said Ginny loudly. "There's a lot to do and I wouldn't mind your help -"

"Mum," James laughed. "You've got a wand, don't you? Can't you just -" he cut himself off at the look on her face.

"Now, if you two wouldn't mind," she said, frowning at her boys. "There's a ton of Christmas that haven't even been wrapped yet, and I just don't have the time."

"Don't have time to wave your wand?" said James before he could stop himself. Lily giggled and Albus snorted; his mum even looked like she was trying not to smile.

"Go easy on him, Ginny," grinned Harry. "He's just lovestruck."

XXX

Over the next few days, James was subjected to an endless stream of prompts and prods - mostly from Lily, although Albus and Teddy joined in enthusiastically on occasion. Her tactic seemed to be to catch him off guard, and she almost caught him a few times. But he didn't know the answer to her questions, which worked in his favour. How could he reply when he didn't know what he was thinking?

It wasn't altogether that unusual to catch James reading, but not for consecutive days, and certainly not when everyone else was up for something that was more likely to get them into trouble. With only a handful of days left, James was sprawled out on the couch in the cold light from the light grey skies outside.

Teddy shoved his feet off the couch, and settled himself down.

"You packed?" James asked, scowling as he relocated his feet to the coffee table, glancing around to make sure his mother wasn't around to see.

"Not really," replied Teddy lightly.

"And when are you leaving?" asked James conversationally.

"Tomorrow, innit?" said Teddy cheerfully.

"You're asking me?" mumbled James, flipping a page with more force than necessary. Teddy was looking at the ceiling, at the painting of a dragon that Lily did in the summer after her first year that hung on the wall, at the bookshelf, at the entire room, like he was absorbing the light.

"You know, I'll miss the place," he remarked. "But it won't hurt to get out on my own again."

James didn't agree. "You've been gone more than a year. We miss you."

"Well, when I live in New York you'll have to get used to it," Teddy told him pointedly.

James scowled. He hated the way Teddy traveled. James had always imagined himself traveling after school, but not _searching for himself _or whatever, and with friends, for a definite amount of time. It didn't take a whole lifetime to see the whole world, especially for wizards. And he had always looked up to Teddy - even more than that, he had tried to model himself, tried to be just like Teddy for most of his life. And what was he meant to do if Teddy decided he _really _liked Venice enough to settle there, or that Amsterdam was just the place for him, or that New Zealand offered things that home couldn't. Who was James supposed to look up to then? Victoire?

He wanted Teddy at home, with an apartment that James could escape to when he felt like it. Where he wouldn't be so distant and detached from the rest of them. But no one could tie Teddy down, until Teddy was ready to be pulled down from the clouds, with a smile on his face.

James was sure he would eventually.

"You're not going to live in New York," said James coolly. "You hated New York."

"I did," said Teddy, grinning like he was recalling a fond memory.

James returned his attention to his book. He had given up telling Teddy not to leave. He had gotten into the habit of just hoping that, every time Teddy was home, he wasn't going to leave again. He'd have to stop eventually. The amount of places in the world were infinite.

Teddy let out a heavy sigh, eyeing James knowingly. " So are you gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

"No," replied James. Teddy raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. "There's nothing bothering me," insisted James.

Teddy snorted. "You're a good liar and all that - we all know you've had enough practice," he added, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "But you look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. What is it?"

James bit his lip. He knew full well that Teddy knew more than he was letting on. So with a deep sigh, he closed his book and threw it onto the coffee table, throwing caution to the winds - but not completely, still looking around to make sure no one, especially Lily, was listening at the foot of the stairs or in the doorway.

"It's just - It's her, alright?" burst out James frustratedly, more angry at himself than anything else.

"Who's 'her'?" said Teddy, with a bemused smirk. James held back his smile. Teddy could play dumb when he wanted to, and James wished he wouldn't. He just wanted to hear James say it _out loud _which was more unnerving and infuriating than the rest.

James shrugged his shoulder. "The girl Al was talking about."

"Oh her," said Teddy lightly. There was a slight pause, in which James could hear the cogs in Teddy's brain working overtime. And then Teddy grinned, resettling himself more comfortably on the couch, looking smug and proud. "James," he said slowly. "She wouldn't be the girl you were in the forest with, would she?"

James took a while to reply. "Yeah, she would."

"Ah," said Teddy, clearly amused. "Thought so."

"Thought so?" repeated James curiously.

Teddy shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I actually thought you were . . . "

"Oh, Merlin, no," said James quickly. "Couldn't you tell - she doesn't exactly like me. She sort of hates me, in fact."

Teddy rolled his eyes, unable to contain his laughter. "Yeah, saw a bit of that," he admitted. "But I saw _something. _Dunno what it was," he said cheerfully. "But it was definitely there."

James said nothing. Teddy couldn't be right - surely he was imagining it. He was beginning to think - or rather, had been thinking for a while now - that he didn't feel _quite _the same way about her. But - it wasn't even all about him anyway. There were two sides to this. And he'd been so caught up in what he'd been thinking, how he was feeling, what _he _had been doing - he had never stopped to consider what she might feel until that moment.

"So what happened?" prodded Teddy.

James let out a shaky sigh, inclining his head. "I might have kissed her."

"Oh really?" said Teddy gleefully. "When?"

"Last day of the holidays," replied James, avoiding catching Teddy's eye. That smug smirk was driving him insane. "Sort of caught her off guard, I suppose."

"Oh classy," remarked Teddy, with a snort. "Always a gentleman."

James sputtered, suddenly desperate to explain himself. "I didn't really - I didn't plan it," he ended up saying, trailing off at the end in confusion.

"No?"

"Of course not," snapped James. "I wouldn't -"

"Apparently you would," laughed Teddy. "Why wouldn't you?"

James shrugged his shoulders, trying to figure out how to make Teddy understand. Teddy, who was so disjointed from reputations and politics and how things were. "I mean . . . we sort of run with different crowds, and if people thought . . ."

"You're saying she's not really cool enough for you?" asked Teddy, looking a tad confused, admittedly.

"I've spent a lot of time working on my reputation," seethed James. "And she'd have that tearing down to nothing. I ... I just need to keep things the way they are."

James could see the subtle change in Teddy's features, and he worried that maybe he had annoyed Teddy with what he said. Teddy liked change more than a normal person was supposed to. He took a second, wrinkling his nose as he thought. "Which is why you kissed her?"

"No," James replied suddenly. "It - it just sort of happened. I wasn't thinking."

"Sounds like you wanted to, mate," Teddy told him.

"It doesn't matter whether I wanted to or not!" James said hotly. "I need to just -"

"Forget about sticking to the status quo," said Teddy briskly. "What do you really want?" James blinked at his cousin, his role model, who was looking almost angry - or at least exasperated with him now. "If you can remember how to be honest with yourself," said Teddy coolly. "Forget about your reputation, everybody else. What do you want?"

"It's complicated," James muttered, suddenly fed up and reluctant to continue this conversation.

"Is it?" retorted Teddy, raising one eyebrow again.

"Of course it is," James snapped. "We're not exactly . . . We're not exactly thick as thieves."

"Ah, yes. She hates you," Teddy said with a nod, smirking again. "You mentioned that. Which is why she let you kiss her?"

"She - " James cut himself off. She did. Now that he thought about it. "Yeah, she did," he muttered, more to himself than to Teddy as the realization dawned on him, like the newly risen sun bathing him in light after the dark of night.

"Hmm," Teddy said pensively. "Yeah, you're right," he said, pretending to speak somberly. "Sounds like you've got no chance there, Potter," he said, with such discreet sarcasm that it could have been misconstrued as serious if James didn't know Teddy so well.

"Well what am I supposed to do?"

"Whatever the bloody hell you feel like," Teddy said, with a loud laugh. "Just - stop thinking so much. And if you've got to think - think about yourself, not all them. It's remarkably easy for us to lie to ourselves, you know? So don't do it."

James sighed. Teddy sounded like he was speaking from experience. "Just ... let whatever happens happen?" he said tentatively.

The easy grin that James knew well was back. "No, you idiot. Make it happen. And do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Don't listen to Fred," Teddy told him, with utmost sincerity. "In fact, you probably shouldn't even tell him about her. Especially if you really like her." Teddy couldn't have put it any plainer. James huffed and looked out the window. He didn't see any point in arguing with Teddy. He wasn't going to deny it anyway - it was an argument he'd lose, and badly. Sharply reminded of where he was, he glanced around again. "Figure out what you want," Teddy advised.

"What about what she wants?" said James quickly.

"You'll figure that out pretty soon," Teddy said, with a shrug. "And when you have, figure out what you're gonna do. And _then _tell Fred." He grinned brilliantly at James, who sighed, deep in thought. _  
_

"I know you think I'm crazy," Teddy added to his speech, eyeing James slightly concernedly. "But I stopped caring what others thought. I started being honest. And you have to not care to be happy."

James refrained from rolling his eyes. James was like the objectification of the stronger, more human voice inside his head that had been bothering him so much in the early days of the holidays. The way Teddy reasoned things out, he made it seem so clear, and so easy. And just like the voice in his head, Teddy had pointed out all the things James hadn't wanted to hear, but needed to hear. And the moment Teddy said it, James couldn't help but think differently about it. At least he knew how he felt, he supposed.

In short, Teddy had put it nicely. A less patient person would have told him how stupid he was. He could hear it now, a voice that was remarkably like Fred: _James, you're so stupid. You've got to stop doing what you think is cool, or what somebody else wants, or what everybody else expects you to do. You should really figure out how you feel. Forget everybody else. _The most ironic part was that that was something Fred would never say, not in a million years.

"Somebody wants to see her," Teddy pointed out perceptively, grinning.

"So what if I do?" retorted James.

"That's cool, mate," Teddy said with a shrug, evidently proud of himself. "But you better go tell her before she realizes she's too good for you," he said, clapping James' shoulder before he stood up cheerfully.

"Funny," said James monotonously.

"I suppose I'd better go pack." He winked, and left.

XXX

The remainder of the holidays passed without much of a stir, and since James had talked to teddy, Lily's incessant badgering for information had proved futile. There was one problem - it was an exceptionally quiet Christmas break for the Potters, which meant that, since he _had _talked to Teddy, there was nothing to distract him, no commotion or calamity to busy himself with, no disaster and destruction to wreak.

He hated that Teddy was so right. Or rather, he hated that Teddy had gotten there first. It was one thing that freaked him out about Lily, about Teddy - and he supposed about Charlotte - he didn't like it when others had him figured out better than he figured himself out. No one brought her up again (Lily did give up eventually) although she never left his head, until they were returning to Hogwarts, the holidays swallowed up more quickly than James could have expected, and he, Fred and Albus were dragging their trunks through the train.

"What about this one?" suggested Al, nodding his head towards the nearest compartment. James glanced in and glowered at his little brother over his shoulder, hoping that Fred hadn't seen Albus' expression.

Fred snorted. "Not a chance, I can't stick Wood," he muttered. James glanced back into the compartment, his face darkening. A burst of anger flooded his veins like a match had been ignited, and he was subconsciously planning to knock Andrew off his broom the next time they were on the pitch, while the monster in his chest roared for the slightly more classic and traditional approach of storming into the compartment and punching Andrew in the stomach.

Where it had irked him before, now it infuriated him beyond logic or rationality to see him in there, laughing and edging closer to her the whole time. And she was smiling, pushing her long dark hair from her face. He experienced some shortness of breath simply looking at her, and Teddy's words were echoing in his head like alarm bells. What a wicked game this was; what a wicked thing it was, this feeling.

"Yeah," muttered James, feeling his heart thunder with panic. "I hate that guy.

Fred nodded his approval, and only a little reluctantly did James push his way away from the compartment up the train, until they located a compartment - which was what James considered to be probably as far away from hers as possible. James sat down quietly, so ultimately aware that she was in close proximity. And yet here he was, sitting so far away where he was never going to see her smile or laugh. And he knew from the second he'd seen her - it was her smile he loved. It made her seem like a whole different person.

"So I had a thought," said Fred, leaning forward.

"That's unusual," remarked James, smirking. His chest relaxed - he sounded like himself, even if he didn't feel anything like it.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Hey Al, can you get lost for a while?" he muttered. James raised his eyebrows, but Al conceded, fuming, and stormed out of the compartment.

"What, is he too fragile for the inner workings of your twisted mind?" said James dryly, with a certain degree of indignation and protectiveness for his little brother.

Fred rolled his eyes again. "Look, I was thinking about Alexander," he told James.

"Why?" said James, too quickly.

"Well, this bloody rumour, right?" Fred said keenly. "What if you just sort of . . . went along with it?"

James blinked. "What?"

"Well," Fred grinned with malicious relish. "Make her believe it, go along with it. Could be fun, right?"

James leaned back in his seat. "Could be fun," he repeated, staring out the window. Fred even brought it up a few times throughout the evening, and James couldn't shake off the feeling that Fred was almost pushing it a little too hard. He seemed extremely enthusiastic about it, and mentioned it at dinner, and again when they were just about ready to go to sleep, the entire dormitory chatting animatedly about their Christmases.

It swam around in his head for what seemed like decades though it wasn't more than hours, and James desperately wished for a Pensieve that his father talked about. In what was definitely the early hours of the morning, James sighed at the ceiling.

What the bloody hell had he gotten himself into now? "Shit," he muttered, before rolling over once more and drifting into an uneasy few hour's sleep.

* * *

Ah, those boring actionless chapters. Teddy and James are quite boring, but what are ya gonna do? Gotta get that in somehow! Sorry about that. And yes, technically I did skip all of Charlie's Christmas because nothing really happened - they went to their mom's, that's all you need to know. Reviews are so appreciated! And Meganxox, wherever you are, you made my day! Thanks for reading.


	21. To The Bone

Don't own any of this. At all. There is one or two curse words in this, be warned. That's all, I think. Happy reading.

* * *

**To The Bone**

Charlie couldn't help but glance towards the compartment door every few seconds, when a shadow moved past behind the glass or she thought she saw a reflection in the window. Talia and Briony were sitting across from her. Briony was reading while Talia played absently with Briony's hair, keeping up a steady flow of conversation. To Charlie's annoyance - although she couldn't definitively place the root of it - Andrew sat with his feet up, watching Talia and Charlie talking, although he didn't say much.

"You waiting for someone?" asked Talia perceptively, raising one eyebrow delicately.

"No," said Charlie. "Why would I be?" She frowned, trying to control her eyes from flickering towards the door again. She ignored Talia's skeptical stare, and pretended she didn't see Briony raise her head like a dog pricked up its ears.

She used to never lie, she thought to herself. And now she would have been embarrassed to say otherwise. She still hadn't mentioned what had happened the night before the holidays. She didn't really know how. She knew they'd react badly, what else were they going to do?

And yes, maybe she had seen through space and time for a second, and her heart still fluttered every time she thought about it. But she couldn't _tell _them that. But then her head ran over how he'd behaved for the last four years, how he'd tortured her and everybody that looked his way twice, and how it made her skin crawl. And she wasn't going to just _forget _all about that, was she? Was she going to pretend she had never _felt _how she felt when he kissed her? It was such a colossal feeling, and how sick and ironic it was that before _that _kiss, with _him, _she had never felt that feeling before.

She tried to be angry. She had tried to get furious at him for making her feel like that, for confusing her so much. But it wouldn't happen.

So she kept it to herself that she was waiting to see him, and hoping that once she did, she'd know how she felt. Or maybe how _he _felt. Her head was so full and exhausted, and she couldn't help replaying all those things she'd heard him say to Anna, over and over until they didn't sound like English anymore.

And Talia and Briony didn't try to interrupt her once - they must have been able to read on her face that she was deep in thought - and although Andrew tried, Charlie was barely able to reply to him, until Talia cleared her throat loudly to get Charlie's attention. Once Charlie looked up, Talia pulled a face and nodded towards the door. And it wasn't James Potter at the door, looking at her guiltily and beseechingly, hoping not to be hexed.

It was Anna.

Charlie bit her lip, and Talia and Briony exchanged a sheepish glance. Andrew just glared at her coldly, unperturbed, and Charlie had to refrain from glowering at him. He had no right to feel anything on her behalf and - sure enough, Anna was quick to the punch.

"Don't look at me like that, Wood," she drawled. "This has nothing to do with you. I just want to talk to my fr - to Charlie," she amended. Charlie sighed and stood up.

"I'm only going for a walk because my legs are sore," she told Anna childishly. "But if you wanted to follow me, it wouldn't be the worst thing." Anna smiled wryly and followed Charlie out to the hallway.

"Have you seen the trolley?" Charlie asked. "I'd kill for some Droobles."

Anna followed her, struggling to keep up with Charlie's quick pace. "I didn't see it," she muttered. She cleared her throat loudly, and Charlie could feel her heart rate starting to rise. She wasn't ready for a shouting match, but she didn't realize how much she missed Anna until she'd seen her standing in the compartment door.

"Right," said Charlie, coming to a halt. "You said you wanted to talk."

"Yes," Anna sputtered. "I wanted to say . . . "

Charlie raised her eyebrows, fighting to keep the grin from her face. "Go on," she coaxed. "Spit it out."

"I'm sorry, alright?" blurted Anna. "Please don't make me say it again."

Charlie let out a low whistle. "Wow, you actually said it," she remarked.

Anna rolled her eyes. "I am, okay? Really," she said earnestly. "It's just . . . " she threw her hands up. "You were in the spotlight, and I was starting to feel like you didn't need me anymore, and I got hurt, and upset, and stupid." She sighed, shaking her head at her own stupidity. "I was always there to take care of you, you know?" she said bitterly, swallowing.

Charlie sighed. "I know. But I think it's about time I took care of myself," she said slowly. She waited a second, until Anna nodded.

"Yeah, I know," she replied. "I never knew you were brave enough," she said, with a grim, apologetic smile.

Charlie shrugged her shoulders. "I wasn't," she said truthfully.

"So what changed?" Anna asked confusedly. Charlie frowned, feeling her face flush.

"I got some courage," she replied simply. She couldn't really lie - it was down to James Potter, but she wasn't keen on telling Anna that. If she thought Briony and Talia would react badly, and besides, why did everything revolve back to James Potter? What she _needed _to do was get him off her head, not have him spring to mind in every conversation. She didn't think Anna would forgive her if she said that it had been James Potter who'd given her courage to do anything.

But Anna was too sharp. She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Charlie shrugged, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, I finally got tired of Potter acting like such a prat," she said, doing her very best to keep her tone offhanded. She didn't need Anna to know how much she was starting to care.

"Did you now?" said Anna shrewdly. Charlie nodded, worried that she hadn't been convincing enough at all. _She _certainly didn't believe herself. "And Weasley?"

"Still working on it," replied Charlie.

"So what happened between you and Potter?"

"What?" Charlie yelped. "What do you - nothing _happened _- just what are you -" she cut herself off when she caught sight of Anna's face, and gulped.

"Come on," Anna said, looking all of shocked and amused and concerned and confused. "What did Potter do?"

"Talking about me again, are we, Goldstein?"

Charlie felt her heart grind to a halt; Anna turned around, hands on hips. His eyes slid to Charlie for just a second, but Anna was sort of hard to ignore, already drawing her wand.

"Potter, I swear, term hasn't even started and if you don't shove off -"

"Alright, woman," said James quickly, rolling his eyes. "Honestly. _You're _the one obsessed with me."

"In your dreams, Potter," Anna replied coolly. James' eyes flickered to Charlie once more, his eyebrows raised. Charlie felt her cheeks burn, and she bit her lip, but neither said anything. He just rolled his eyes at Anna and pushed past her. Once he had, Anna rounded on Charlie, realization - although not with complete clarity - dawning on her face.

"What?" said Charlie defensively.

"What _did _happen?" asked Anna. "This isn't anything to do with that bloody rumour, is it?" she asked shrewdly.

"No," said Charlie, too quickly. Anna looked very much like she didn't believe a word Charlie was going to say. "I swear," she insisted, already knowing that Anna knew her better than that, and was too damn stubborn for her own good.

"Come on, Charlie," she said lightly. "You know you can trust me."

"Oh please!" said Charlie with a laugh, and it felt natural and easy, like they hadn't just spent the last month ignoring each other. It felt normal. "You don't even know _how _to keep a secret."

"I do too!" protested Anna, finally smiling properly. "Come on, you think I don't know when you're keeping something to yourse-"

"Let's just go find the trolley," suggested Charlie, feeling her heart begin to pound with unease as she gently persuaded Anna in the other direction. Anna was so perceptive sometimes. "I'm starving."

Anna looked over her shoulder, unsure of her footing. She looked something close to worried. "It's not - it's not _true, _is it?"

"Don't be silly," said Charlie briskly, pulling an appalled face when Anna turned back around, apparently mollified.

XXX

Now that Christmas was over, an inescapable fear seemed to creep up on the fifth and seventh years. Their exams seemed so much closer this side of Christmas, looming over like a dark cloud that didn't release its rain - only gathered more and more, until thunder growled and the heavens opened.

Charlie thought it was remarkable how seamlessly things slotted back to normal. It was like nothing had ever happened between her and Anna - in fact, it seemed almost strange how everything seemed the same as it had been for the last four years. Except for Charlie. Charlie felt so different. But nothing seemed different, so she said nothing.

The first Quidditch practice was scheduled for the first Friday back - there had been several scruples over the pitch, since all four teams were desperate to get back to training as soon as possible, but most players had wanted the first week to resettle themselves. After much squabbling and a badly placed hex, and a subsequent intervention from the Heads of Houses, times were given for the first weekend back - one was scheduled for Sunday afternoon, two for Saturday morning and afternoon, and to Charlie's horror, the Gryffindor team had their time directly after school on Friday - one day less to prepare herself for . . . whatever it was. All she knew was that it was sure to be awkward.

As the time grew nearer, Charlie grew more and more anxious about going to the practice. Now that she had Anna back, she had noticed an upsurge in questions fired in her direction, and very unlike Briony and Talia - who, incidentally, they couldn't spend much time with, since Anna wasn't particularly fond of them - Anna noticed Charlie's trepidation.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" she demanded, on the Thursday afternoon of the first week. "You're green in the face. You didn't accidentally swallow some Puking Pastilles, did you?" she asked cautiously, inching her food away from Charlie.

"No," replied Charlie quietly. She didn't feel sick, not _really. _She felt a little queasy, sure, whenever she thought about Quidditch. And while she was nervous, it was a bizarre sort of nervous. Like the sort of feeling she got before she played a Quidditch match - nervous, but - almost invigorated. And once she was in the moment, it was amazing and exhilarating.

She wanted the moment of truth, in all honesty, though it felt a lot like anxiety. How James Potter and she had achieved in avoiding each other all week, Charlie would never know. It seemed that _he _was back to normal too - he turned up to almost all of his classes, but the majority of the time, he sauntered in casually after the lesson had begun, or rushed in five minutes late with his hair a mess and his tie askew.

Usually, when he was even remotely on time, he and Fred would've stopped by her desk, to say something rude or ask her did her mirror break that morning. But neither boy had looked at her or Anna, apart from the first day when Anna had slipped out to the bathroom before Herbology.

He'd seen her - and said nothing. That in itself was so strange. But him saying anything would have been even stranger. She didn't think any outcome in the situation would have made her feel better about anything. He just met her eyes and looked away, looking preoccupied.

Fred and Michael made fun of her a little bit, and it made her feel uneasy. James was never around, but they were like a force of nature, and it was ill-advised to stand in their way. Charlie couldn't help but wonder - when she finally _did _see James - what the pair of them what do, what impact they would have on him.

But apart from that, Charlie had hardly seen James, apart from catching a glimpse of him running in the other direction between classes But surely that wouldn't be able to continue, once they were back training on the same team.

A few times, in her more drastic moments, Charlie considered quitting the team. It was clear - she supposed, from the lack of . . . _anything, _confrontation, even a conversation - that it wasn't going to be addressed, and she wasn't about to be the one who forced it. She didn't say anything to Anna about the team - since she'd know immediately that something big or monumental must have happened to galvanize her into resignment. Anna would see right through her.

And while Charlie entertained the notion, she knew she wouldn't. There was a part of her that was dying to stay on the team, that couldn't wait for practice and genuinely longing to see him and talk to him, and that was exceptionally delighted to have a ready made excuse to at least see him once a week.

But even the rational, more realistic and fearful side to her knew - she'd have to try and explain to _him _why she was quitting, and he would never let her. He wouldn't buy a single thing she could come up with. It was just as well she wasn't going to go through with it.

Perhaps it was just curiosity that was making her stick it out - it scared her to think it was anything more. But Charlie was starting to realize that it _was _more than just that. She could fight it all she liked until she stopped scaring herself - after all, James Potter, of all people - but she knew - fighting her shrinking corner would only last so long. She couldn't keep telling herself that it was a simply idle, disconnected thing, an emotionally uninvolved, curious interest of how it would play out forever.

Somewhere in that last week, she had begun to realize that she couldn't go along with that for much longer, and she had begun to know that it was something more that kept him in her head, that made her stay.

XXX

You better lie. You better not tell him how you're feeling. You better not tell him the truth. The truth is just poison. And you could never take all the damage thrown your way because of it. Fred Weasley would think that was hilarious.

She could tell herself these things as often as she liked - she didn't believe herself.

She had delayed going down to the pitch as much as possible, taking more than enough time playing with her dinner, and doubling back to the common room twice for things she had 'forgotten', including her broom and her shoes.

But try as she may, she couldn't postpone it forever. James walked into the changing room about five minutes after her, while she was pulling on her boots, and apart from a nod and a small smile, the pair of them acted normal. Well - close enough to normal. Charlie let in a few more goals than she should have, and she wouldn't admit it to anybody, but her eye was drawn to him a lot more often than it should have been - and he didn't even have a Quaffle for her to hide behind. She'd had a lot of mixed feelings, conflicting emotions - but her heart seemed to give a small flutter, and he didn't seem so bad like he did before.

But apart from that it was like any normal practice. It was afterwards that James asked her was she feeling okay, since she'd missed _quite _a few saves, and asked her could they talk for a minute.

"I was just thinking," he said, as they trudged back to the school in the mud and the bitter cold. "You told me you'd never be on a team that I was running."

Charlie threw him an odd look. "You remember that?" she laughed; he shrugged his shoulders. She _was _surprised that he remembered her saying something like that - or rather, that he remembered her saying anything at all. She sighed, with a small smile. "Well, I pitied you."

"Oh, thank you," James said sardonically, scowling.

Charlie smiled. "I suppose things just changed," she said lightly. She felt incredibly aware of everything, like someone had enhanced all her sense. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched or even pranked - but she supposed he just had that effect.

"I suppose they did," James nodded, looking at his shoes. "I never even knew you played Quidditch."

Charlie snorted. "And what exactly _did _you know about me?" she said amusedly.

James looked up at her, thinking hard. "I knew your name," he pointed out eventually.

Charlie laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Well, in case you'd like to know - I play Quidditch," she said coolly.

"I'm glad you do," said James lightly.

Charlie sighed, feeling some anxiety begin to brew in her stomach. "James, did you - did you want to talk about _Quidditch?" _

James swallowed, shaking his head. "No, I suppose I didn't," he muttered. Charlie frowned. He looked almost _concerned, _not at all like his one and only priority was letting her know how cool he was. "Look, about what happened -"

Charlie threw up her hands; she felt like she knew where this was going by his tone. "Don't worry about it," she said assuringly. "Really, it's just . . . "

James shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked up at the castle. "We _could _pretend it never happened, but . . . "

Charlie sighed again, feeling like she should have seen this coming. Look who she was talking to - they lived in two completely separate worlds. It was so bizarre to have thought that they could have thought the same things, felt a similar feeling.

"Then it's forgotten," she finished, making him frown and - at last - look at her.

"You don't - you don't think it meant anything?" he asked, his expression unreadable.

Charlie shrugged her shoulders, unsure of what to say, unsure of what he wanted to hear. He nodded. "Right. That's settled then."

Charlie agreed, and then bit her lip. "James, look," she said quickly. "You've been . . . well, not horrible over the last while," she said, grimacing. "And I was really starting to like it. And I know that kiss sort of messed everything up - " she was rushing her words, desperate to get them out before she thought better of it. James just stared, his brow furrowing more and more as she spoke. " - but d'you think you could, you know, keep not being horrible?" she said, finishing somewhat lamely.

James nodded, still frowning. "Yeah, I think I could manage that," he told her, smiling. "In fact, look, I -"

To Charlie's dismay, she heard her name called from across the grounds, by someone all too familiar. Her stomach seemed to roll over uncomfortably, and annoyance rose inside of her like a match had fallen on some alcohol and a fire had blazed to life in her chest.

"Andrew," she said grimly. "Did you need something?"

Andrew didn't seem to notice James, standing there, openly glaring at him. "Yeah," he said, beaming. "Listen, there's a Hogsmeade trip set for Valentine's Day, d'you fancy it?"

Charlie blinked at him. Her gaze flickered to James, and she bit her tongue, lost for words. Just when she was starting to like someone - and she hadn't even worked out how she felt about _that _yet - and Andrew went and stuck his nose in it.

Eventually, she pulled an apologetic face at him. It wasn't like she could _trust _James or anything, even if he _had _apologized. But she wasn't in charge of the way she felt, and none of it meant that she could go out with Andrew, on what was blatantly a date, no matter how casual he'd tried to make it sound.

"Oh, no thanks, Andrew," she said, making herself almost disappointed. "I don't really think so. Raincheck?"

Andrew frowned. "Are you sure? I mean -"

"Didn't you hear her?" James said quickly, and Charlie felt like a sheet of ice had just coveted all three of them. "She said no." The two boys glared at each other for a second, until James seemed to get bored of that. "And we were sort of in the middle of something. So could you scamper off and maybe go for someone in your league next time?" he said ruthlessly, making Charlie blink and Andrew narrow his eyes as he put two and two together.

"James," said Charlie reproachfully, feeling some of Andrew's hurt. James raised his eyebrows at her, and she saw his expression change. Apparently, she had just chosen a side. Charlie blew a few strands of hair out of her eyes, glancing at Andrew.

"Andrew, I'll come talk to you later, okay?" she said kindly, hoping Andrew would get the message. He did and departed quickly, eyeing the pair of them suspiciously.

She placed her hands on her hips and looked at James, probably a little more accusingly than was necessary. "Sorry about that," she said quickly. "But you didn't have t -"

"Oh it's fine," James said icily. "Probably better off anyway. People might take it a little seriously," he laughed mirthlessly, throwing his eyes towards the sky. When she said nothing, he rolled his eyes, seemingly bored with their conversation. "It's fine, really. Go out with him. You deserve each other."

Charlie frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_," said James pointedly. "That it's not like I could go along with it anyway. Fred would've twisted it into something really ugly. He's already trying to, in fact . . ." James trailed off, looking dejected.

"Go along with what?" Charlie asked hoarsely, feeling her chest contract and her words get stuck in her throat. She could barely hear him over the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

James just turned to her with a cold look. "Are you that dense, Alexander?" he said dryly. Charlie said nothing. "What, you hardly thought -"

"Didn't you?" said Charlie meekly, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.

"That's hardly important," James said, with the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was walking slowly across the grounds again, Charlie hot at his heels.

"Isn't it?!" she exploded.

"Don't give me that!" James shouted, wheeling around and rounding on her. "Just don't."

Charlie shook her head. "Why are you getting so angry?" she demanded.

He ignored her question. "Doesn't matter," he muttered. "I don't even know what I was thinking." He waved his hand dismissively and headed again for the castle.

"What _were _you thinking?" said Charlie, balling her hands into fists at her sides, hurrying to catch up with him as he reached the steps leading up to the castle.

"That's not important," James brushed off her question, sullenly, as he stopped on the steps to look down at her.

She followed until they were face to face, for the first time feeling that she wasn't about to be a doormat. She couldn't go along with whatever he said. And she couldn't help but insist in her own head that of course it was important.

"James . . ." she said slowly, swallowing. She wrinkled her nose - she sounded quieter than she'd wanted to, more vulnerable. "Don't -"

"I was thinking," he erupted, looking terribly frustrated. "That it _did_ mean something."

Charlie felt her heart sputter to a halt, the way a car's engine gives a heartfelt spurt before it eventually grinds to a halt. Charlie's mind had gone blank; she could only stare at him, feeling her heart slamming against her ribcage. "James . . ." She even reached out, but he pulled away with a dry laugh.

"Come on," he said dejectedly. "Let's not pretend we were going to take this seriously."

"You seem to be taking it pretty seriously," Charlie said through her teeth.

James rolled his eyes. "Yeah well. Go ask Andrew to take you seriously," he told her monotonously.

"That's not fair!" protested Charlie.

"Life's not fair," James replied, whirling around once more. At the door Charlie paused. She could have done what she usually would've done - go find Andrew like she said she would. But she didn't _want _Andrew. Somehow, she had figured him out. And after hearing what he'd said to Anna, Charlie didn't understand how he could pretend he didn't care. She didn't even care how he felt - and she had no reason to believe it was anything other than what he'd said (leaving out one kiss) but he at least cared, she knew.

She called after him, and swallowing, she headed up the stairs; he was about a flight ahead of her, and she didn't much fancy getting into a shouting match in the middle of the staircase.

"Oh, let it be, Alexander!" he called down. And Charlie had to bite back her anger. It wasn't even about him saying what she wanted to hear. It was about him saying something, anything that was actually true. He didn't answer her until they were on the seventh floor corridor that led to the common room.

And she exploded. "Why did you even kiss me in the first place then?" she asked, just as they were climbing through the portrait hole. James leaned against the wall and surveyed her for what felt like forever. Charlie waited, barely daring to breathe. But James' eyes flickered over to one corner of the common room, where his friends were situated, having yet to notice him.

"C'mon Potter!" That was Michael, who had finally glanced around. "What are you hanging around her for?" he jeered. And she waited. She didn't know what to expect, or what she _was _expecting. But she could tell what he felt from his expression. He looked so tortured. He rearranged his features before he turned to face his friends, but she had seen the sadness - almost _desperation - _in his face, like he was begging her to understand something.

"Look," he said quickly. Charlie knew his friends could hear, and James knew that too. "You're just being fucking delusional," he said bluntly. "So cut it out. It was one little thing," he said, dropping his voice for a second. "But it's not like that makes you special or anything. You're not. And I don't really want anything to do with you, so could you please stop acting like a whiny little baby?"

Charlie raised her eyebrows, and said nothing.

"Honestly," James went on, rolling his eyes. "You think there's something here, but it's just - it's in your head, so - just stay away from me. There's nothing here. Nothing."

Charlie cleared her throat, feeling a numb sort of calmness spread over her. She didn't have the energy to cry or burst out yelling. She could feel herself crumbling quietly, and it hurt too much to express something like that physically. She felt sick, and her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. But she wasn't going to let it show.

"My mistake then," she in a calm voice, chilled to the bone. She was too numb to feel. She inclined her head towards him as if to say '_That's that, then' _and pushed past him. She couldn't be angry, though she had reason to. Did he think she didn't _know _that he had done that on purpose, backed out because of his silly little friends?

She went to bed early, not even bothering to answer Anna, who demanded to know where she'd been the moment she entered the dormitory. She just yanked her curtains shut and went straight to bed, feeling more confused than ever.

Why did he bother - saying all those things that he didn't, that he _couldn't _mean? Or maybe he wanted it this why. Charlie supposed he'd made that very clear. And how did she even get caught up in between anyway?

* * *

So, thanks for reading. Also, this chapter would not have gotten done if it hadn't been for all those reviews, which really helped when I felt so discouraged. So thanks so much, they are always appreciated.


	22. Slowly, Then All At Once

Don't own any of this. At all. More swearing, because I can't reel it in, ha! Okay, moving on. If you recognize the chapter title, (you should) it's a John Green quote. Think that's all, happy reading!

* * *

**Slowly, Then All At Once**

James watched her go upstairs, feeling his blood boil with irrational anger. He didn't need her to screw up his life like that - he had it all perfect, and he didn't need that to change anytime soon. His friends had fallen silent, and they raised their eyebrows at him as he sat down, feeling drained and exhausted.

"What was that about?" asked Michael, inclining his head towards where James had been standing a minute before.

"Nothing," he muttered. "Just . . . "

"What, lover's tiff?" Fred joked.

James rolled his eyes. "Very funny," he remarked.

The three of them looked at him expectantly, as if they were waiting him to launch into some long-winded explanation. He threw them all a dark look and dragged his bag towards him, trying to stop his hands from quivering. He didn't even want to look at them - it was all their fault anyway. Why did they always have to act like that, make him think he had to behave that way?

And in truth, he was just as angry at her. It had been fine before any of this had started. He'd always gotten fine on his own, he didn't need her or anything. And he wasn't going to let him believe that he needed her now, not when his friends were breathing down his neck the way they were. He could only imagine their faces if they knew what they had been talking about. If they had seen the way he was looking at her only a few hours ago - James knew that they wouldn't forgive him for it.

But he wasn't going to let her ruin things for him without even trying - he didn't care until she'd cropped up in his life, and they'd met in a way other than him throwing out a few words he didn't even think about, and her looking at the floor and just accepting it.

That was the worst part. She made him feel so guilty for saying all those things, for not really thinking about what he was saying before he said it, and she was doing it without even holding it against him.

He couldn't help but wonder what Teddy would think if he'd seen what would happen. He'd probably try to tell James how he was feeling, like he knew better than James himself. But he was tired of everybody on his case, everyone telling him what to feel, what to think, what to do. It was all getting out of hand.

James got very little homework done that night.

The next week seemed to have left a thin sheet of ice over everyone, although to James' relief, nothing happened that would set him off again, or make Fred suspicious again. He couldn't walk into a classroom without his eyes automatically looking for her, but she had determinedly mastered looking anywhere but at him.

There seemed to be an unspoken, subconscious agreement to keep as far away from each other as possible, to walk the other direction when they saw each other coming, to avoid each other's gaze at Quidditch practice, and in the classroom; in short, they both did their very best to pretend that the other didn't exist, although James couldn't remember a time when he was more exquisitely aware of someone's existence.

Whenever he did manage to glance at her, to make sure she left the classroom before he'd even finished packing up his belongings, or to see if she was looking in his direction (which had three times resulted in a nasty bite from the creature he was holding during Care of Magical Creatures, his reward for not paying attention to what he should have been paying attention to), he pretended he didn't notice the way Max would stare, like he was waiting for something to happen, or the way he wouldn't say anything for about half an hour after that had happened, like he was silently raging away to himself.

Fred, thankfully, noticed very little. Or rather, didn't let on very much.

He was glad they didn't mention it - even when they were teasing her, which was thankfully not that often as there were plenty of other people at Hogwarts - he didn't know if he could take much more of it, especially since they seemed to have turned up the heat a little bit. It was so much easier to go along with it, to punk out and savour the feeling of relief that spread through him. Nothing had changed - no one thought any different of him. No one cared. Such an easy escape. And such trivial feelings to be fighting anyway.

There was one little bump in the otherwise smooth road, about two weeks after their fight. James thought they were the quietest two weeks of his life, even though he talked as much as usual, as did everyone else. But he hadn't spoken to her in just over a fortnight, and it seemed to leave such a big gaping, silent hole in those weeks.

It was after Quidditch practice, and while he cleaned his broom, he could see Andrew Wood from the corner of his eye, patting her on the shoulder or tugging lightly on her ponytail. He had to roll his eyes and bite back his fury at the sight. He still didn't know who Andrew thought he was. But all he could do was act like he didn't care, the same way she was. Act like she didn't mean anything at all.

Maybe he'd believe it if he thought it long enough.

XXX

It hit him one day in , in the last dregs of a long and dull January. He was paying less attention than usual, slumped over his desk and staring vacantly into space, not even aware that there were words floating through the air for his benefit. And then, he bolted upright, a surge of determination unfolding in his chest. He just needed to get it out of his system, that was all.

He didn't need to be stuck caring so much, and pretending he didn't. All he needed was a little distraction, to get it out of his mind, and he'd forget all about her. And he knew just where to find such a distraction.

The Gryffindor team had regularized their practices to Tuesdays and Fridays, and Sophie Chambers had Charms Club on Tuesdays. However, she had nothing to do on Fridays, and five out of six times, she seemed to wander into the stadium when they were training, looking as if she could have drifted along by accident. But James knew better than that. She was a lot more calculating than that, and slightly savage, which became evident when she hung around their changing room once they'd finished practice.

This particular Friday, the last day of January, it struck James as very odd that all it took was an encouraging smile and a private wink in Sophie's direction - after all, he _had _spent the last few months ignoring her completely. And he wasn't exactly sure what she thought they had - in his opinion, that was very_, very _little - but he hadn't seen much point in beating around the bush.

She'd been hanging around after practice and she hadn't objected when he'd kissed her, not like he expected her to. And she was just like any other girl, responsive and enthusiastic; she was another pair of soft lips that knew how to kiss, another pair of hands that knew where to go.

There was a little cough behind him and she jerked away with a scowl, which was directed over his shoulder. There were three girls standing there, one still in her Quidditch robes, and the only thought James could process was a stream of profanities.

Charlie shrugged her shoulders, and with a small smirk muttered that they hadn't meant to intrude. James scowled - she doesn't sound like she cared at all. She just emitted a small, almost pitying laugh and walked back out, calling for the other two to hurry up.

He didn't really know if it was regret he was feeling. Sophie certainly didn't feel anything of that kind; her hands were still tugging on his shirt. He took one step forward, attempting to pry Sophie's hands off him. But Anna threw him a warning look, and embarrassing as it was, he quailed under it.

"Don't you dare," she muttered, placing a hand to her forehead. She wasn't glaring or anything, but her expression was even more frightening than that, like she didn't know whether to be angry, or sad, or shocked. James threw his hands up like a surrender, and Anna rolled her eyes before she left. The other one, Talia - she lingered for a second, but she didn't look angry. She looked simply intrigued, her head tilted to the side as she took in his face, pressing her lips together thoughtfully.

Then she wrinkled her nose, and seemed to come to a conclusion for whatever she was looking for, because she left then too, in a far less dramatic manner.

"Honestly," muttered Sophie. "Anna Goldstein has to screw up everything for everybody."

James glanced at her, feeling suddenly like he was being suffocated by an overbearing child who demanded all of his attention. "Look, Sophie," he muttered. "I'm really sorry, I don't know what I was thinking." An apology sounded foreign, even to his own ears.

"Oh, it's fine," she grinned. "You were fine before _she _came in."

"No, no I wasn't," said James. It hadn't felt right at all. He felt sick. "This probably was a mistake."

"A mistake?" she repeated icily, and James couldn't help but be slightly scared of the look she was giving him.

"I don't think I'm that into you, Sophie," he said quickly, feeling his face go red. Her stare was so piercing, and he felt more uncomfortable by the second.

Suddenly that death look was gone, and she'd plastered a wide, if slightly contrived and deranged smile on her face. "Don't be silly, James," she said sweetly.

"I'm not," he insisted. "I've gotta go, see you around."

He took the long way back to the castle, feeling like it was too narrow an escape he'd just had. All of a sudden, Fred sprung to mind. Wasn't it only a couple of months ago that Michael and James were relentlessly taunting Fred over the same girl, trying to make him be honest with how he was feeling?

Guilt gnawed at his stomach, coming so suddenly it knocked the wind out of him. He hadn't even thought about Fred or what Fred would think. In his own opinion, Fred had narrowly avoided her too, but that was really beside the point anyway.

His thoughts carried him back up to the castle.

XXX

Anna was waiting for him after dinner the following Monday, outside his last class of the day. She leaned against the wall opposite the door with her arms folded, and when James came out of the room, he made no attempt to pretend he didn't think she wasn't there to talk to him. She pushed herself off the wall the moment she saw him and slipped into step beside him, scowling.

"What do you want, Goldstein?" he muttered, making sure she was well aware of how much an inconvenience she was causing him.

"You kissed her," said Anna accusingly. James frowned, glancing across at her. Yes you did, he thought to himself. And it's all you've been thinking about ever since, tell her that.

"So she told you," he muttered, staring at his shoes.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed, coming to a halt in the middle of the corridor, and grabbing onto his arm so he would stop to.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Anna went on, hitting his arm with every word. "You - kissed - her - and - now - everything's - all - messed - up!" she yelled.

"Alright, woman," said James, cowering away from her. "Give it a rest, I'm not in the mood."

"Oh really?" she said icily. "Look, whatever little game you're playing, whatever scheme you've cooked up with your friends," - he threw her an incredulous look, which she missed - "- it ends. Now."

"I didn't realize you were the boss of me, Goldstein," he retorted, more out of spite than anything else. He had nothing else to say.

"If only I was, _James_," she said coolly, raising one eyebrow delicately. James was sure he could see a slight smirk pulling at her mouth, though she refrained.

"Stop flirting, Goldstein," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not interested." Several people were casting the pair of them confused glances as they passed - she couldn't have picked a more conspicuous spot to get into an argument.

Anna pursed her lips, and James was satisfied with the thought that that seemed to annoy her. "Drop it," was all she said, in a dangerously low voice. "She even seems to like you, and it's not fair. And then you go and _kiss - another - girl,_" she spat. "What are you playing at? If you're going to do that, you might as well do it right," she said pointedly.

"I'm not playing at anything!" James retorted angrily, and then wished he'd never spoke.

She took a second, heaving a deep sigh. "I don't really think you're capable of such a deep emotion, Potter," she told him. "So leave her alone, before I rip you limb from limb."

"I wish I could," James replied, glowering at her.

"Just figure all this mess out, Potter," she said threateningly.

"No need to be jealous," he muttered, not able to stop himself smirking. She hit his arm one more time for good measure.

"Don't even dream about it," she muttered, though was smirking.

"Something you want to say?" he asked her coolly. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised, and took a second to reply.

"It's not like you're good enough for a girl like her, it would never last. So quit lying." James didn't say anything - she'd finally found the magic words, and he bit his lip, speechless. She didn't know right she was, on all accounts. He _wasn't _good enough, and he _was _lying - to everybody.

The smile she threw him was one of smug satisfaction, before she sauntered away triumphantly, leaving him standing in the corridor, staring after her.

XXX

Fred was spending a lot more time in the library, James noticed, once he'd found him later that same day in a deserted corner. He sat down opposite him, raising his eyebrows at all the work spread across the table.

Fred shrugged. "A Healer job isn't exactly going to fall into my lap," he said as an explanation.

"Uncle Percy says that work isn't everything," Jame remarked.

"He also says that you have to work hard to get where you want to go," Fred retorted.

"But that it isn't everything," James reiterated. "Honestly, mate, I'm worried about you."

"Don't worry your head about it," Fred replied, laughing. "I just really want this, that's all."

"Good luck with those NEWTs," James said dubiously. "I'm sure they won't be a bitch at all."

Fred snorted. "Alright, no need for all that snark," he muttered, lowering his head over a long essay, filled from side to side with Fred's tiny, cramped handwriting.

James took a deep breath, glad Fred was too busy concentrating on his essay to look at his face. "I'm sorry, mate," he said slowly.

"About what?" mumbled Fred.

James grimaced. "Sophie."

Fred paused, his hand hovering over his work. With a sigh, he threw his quill down and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "What?" he said, shaking his head and looking at James like he couldn't believe he'd said something so stupid.

"I really am," he muttered, his mind drifting back to the look Sophie had given him; he repressed a shudder. "I shouldn't have - not when you - I don't know what I was -"

"It's fine, mate," said Fred briskly, holding up a hand to stop James. "Really. She seems a bit mental. I'm sure you'll testify to that."

"You have no idea," muttered James tiredly.

"See?" grinned Fred. "Dodged a bad hex, didn't I?"

James managed to smile, so delighted and relieved with Fred's forgiveness. "So you don't like her anymore?"

"Nah," said Fred dismissively, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, I'm sorry anyway," James said again. Fred narrowed his eyes, balancing his chair on its back legs.

"Is that why you've been acting so mental lately?" he asked suspiciously, watching James carefully for a reaction. "Your guilt was eating you alive?"

"What? No!" said James quickly. "I didn't realize it until the other day, but I thought I should ... you know."

Fred nodded. "You know," he said conversationally, but it was such a contrived tone that James felt his chest tighten in apprehension. "Max seems to think it's something to do with Alexander."

"What about her?" James replied, too quickly, sounding too casual.

Fred sniggered slightly. "He seems to think you're starting to really like her. Tell me you don't, mate."

"Of course not," James said, with an easy grin, though he felt like he was screaming internally.

"Good," said Fred. "Because if you did - you'd be the world's biggest prat. And she hates you anyway, you wouldn't stand a chance."

"I wouldn't?" said James, before he could stop himself.

Fred narrowed his eyes again. "Come on, mate, you're the one who was bugging me to tell the truth about Sophie. So?"

"I told her she was just being delusional, it's sorted," muttered James.

Fred looked at him thoughtfully for a minute. "You're gonna have to prove it some time soon. You're the one who was so insistent on being honest."

"I am," said James. "Really, I am."

Then he realized - he hadn't wanted to say that at all. It was an instinctual reaction, to Fred asking him such an outright question. And it was a lie, he realized, feeling like someone had hit him in the chest and knocked the wind out of him. He wasn't Fred - but he knew he didn't want to see Fred's face if James said anything different than what Fred wanted to hear.

But he hadn't wanted to say those things to her. He had very clearly said them to keep his friends off his back, but he hadn't meant them, not at all. Why couldn't he face his friends? He was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors weren't meant to be so scared of such little things.

"There's no chance you can sort of ... get in her good books then?" asked Fred, yanking James out of his thoughts. "Because that would have been one wicked prank, mate." He grinned encouragingly at James, who swallowed a lump in his throats, feeling his blood run cold at the very though.

"No," he said, with a grim smile. "She's gone back to hating me." And he was hating every second of it - but maybe it was just as well.

"Oh what did you go and do that for?" said Fred reproachfully, pulling a face at James, who shrugged his shoulders. "We could have had some real fun."

"Yeah," James forced himself to say. "Fun." None of this felt like fun anymore. It felt like something that hurt a lot more.

He had had the right idea anyway - going along with anything would have been catastrophic. Fred would have got it wrong, made it into a joke, without really meaning to. And she would have gotten hurt. In fact, he would have gotten hurt too. If they actually started to work - which wasn't going to happen _now - _but if it had, Fred would have inevitably said something eventually, not realizing what he was saying.

And would it be worth it all anyway, when no matter what he did, he'd have to let her go anyway?

He could have said that he was just protecting her and himself, that it was better for both of them this way, safer. Neither would get hurt - he'd done the right thing really. Now all he had to do was get her out of his head.

So why couldn't he shake the feeling that he should have kissed her instead?

XXX

James wouldn't deny that he felt a little better after that. It was great to feel that Fred was on his side again, and it wasn't as hard for James to avoid his thoughts when Fred was in such a better mood.

At least, until Max seemed to crack, and finally brought it up. "So have you been talking to Charlie lately?" he asked, in what was very carefully poised as an idle, simply curious tone, on a rare night that the four of them were doing some homework. They didn't really have a choice at that stage - it had piled up at an alarming rate, and they were all drowning in it.

He couldn't answer for a few seconds. But he didn't have to. Michael roared with laughter. "Why on earth would he be?"

James grimaced to himself - what on earth would they say if they knew exactly what had happened? Max raised his eyebrows at Michael, unimpressed. James swallowed. He hadn't even had a proper chance to decide what he wanted, whether any of this was worth it.

Max had turned his gaze to James, and was shooting him an imploring, meaningful look that James didn't quite understand.

"Dunno," he muttered, in answer to Michael's crudely posed question. "I've caught him staring once or twice, I thought."

"No, you haven't," muttered James lightly.

"You're crazy, Max," said Fred, amused. "James has taste. Come off it." James leaned back, breathing out a sigh of relief. But it was short lived. Max sat back too, looking cross and put-out.

And the moment that Fred and Michael left for the kitchens, he scowled at James. "So what _did _happen anyway?"

"What do you mean?" asked James lightly. When Max said nothing, only stared, unamused, James inclined his head. "Nothing. Sort of the problem. I said there was nothing there."

Max gaped. "You're such an idiot, James, why would you do that?"

James frowned. "What?"

"Well there obviously is!" Max said, sounding absolutely appalled. At James' incredulous look, he went in on an admonishing tone. "Come on, James, everyone can see it. When you both look at each other, it's right there. It's like you're the only person in the universe to each other."

James shook his head, hoping to brush his comments off with a remark. "Haven't you seen Goldstein shooting you all those dark looks?" Max asked. "She's pissed."

"No," James replied truthfully, making Max grin.

"That's because you're too busy looking at Charlie. Fred and Michael know it too, they're just in denial. Too afraid they'll lose you to a mere mortal," Max told him, snorting. James pulled a face at him. "Come on James. You know how you feel."

James frowned. "Why are you . . . "

Max grinned. "I've seen you pretend you don't care for nearly five years, mate. But this is more important than that. So I'm not going to let you do it again."

James looked unseeingly into his lap. What did he say all that for in the first place? He just _had _to go and screw everything up. And it wasn't her fault like he'd thought, or even Fred's. It was his own fault.

"Fuck," he muttered. "I need to . . ."

"Yeah," said Max gleefully.

For all the trouble it caused, there would have been three times as much. And it would have been worth it.

* * *

Now that my phase of minimalism is over, I was wondering if anyone would like to design pour moi a new cover image? I'd appreciate it forever. Anyway, reviews are always welcome. In fact, I need them. Pretty please. Thanks for reading!


	23. Break

Don't own, swear word or two, et cetera. Also, blech, I hate kiss scenes. Happy reading!

* * *

**Break**

If there was one thing accomplished in her first month back, it was Anna's miraculous change of heart. She had decided that Briony and Talia were worthy candidates to hang around with them, and so she was a lot more friendly to them, which meant good for Charlie, who could spend more time with two girls she had really grown to care for.

The first full week of February passed with indecent haste, and before Charlie knew it, she was sitting slumped over her desk on Monday morning, listening to Briony gush about her plans for Valentine's Day, which fell on the coming Friday.

"So, does anybody know Malcolm Douglas?" she announced, and Charlie could tell that she had been dying to bring him up.

"Git," remarked Anna immediately. Talia had her head resting in her arms and was staring in the other direction - she said nothing.

Charlie nodded. "Isn't he going out with Dominique Weasley?"

Briony shook her head, frowning. "No, apparently not, since he asked me to come to Hogsmeade with him."

Anna wheeled around to look Briony in the eye, and even Talia jerked her head up a bit. Immediately, Anna launched into an inquisition.. Charlie glanced at Talia, who had turned her head away again, and chewed on her lip. She wasn't a very outspoken girl, but she was never _quiet. _Once she caught her eye, Charlie tried to silently ask her what was wrong, but Talia just looked away again.

"And what exactly did you say?" asked Anna, in the middle of something that Charlie had missed. Talia and Charlie couldn't help themselves - they turned in to hear.

"I said I would," Briony said happily. "Of course I would. Well, it's not like I had any other plans anyway."

"_We _were going to see if we could get into the Shrieking Shack," muttered Talia.

"Yes, but real plans," Briony said, too excited to really see Talia's expression once she'd said that. Charlie cleared her throat awkwardly, desperate to change the subject.

"Double History of Magic first thing on a Monday, whose idea was that?" she said, yawning widely. No one replied; Professor Binns floated through the wall just as the door swung open with the arrival of the last dregs of latecomers, which included James Potter. She hadn't quite gotten used to seeing him walk into the room - she had to force herself to stare pointedly ahead until he'd passed - and every time she saw him felt like a fresh blow to her chest. And today, he looked cheerful, smiling and laughing with Fred. And she realized with sadness that his smile - a genuine smile - was something she had not seen in a very long time.

She swallowed and looked unseeingly into her lap, praying that tears wouldn't sting her eyes. Once she was sure he'd passed, she looked up again - just to find that Talia was staring at her. Talia nodded, as if to say she understood.

Anna was in an exceptionally good mood once History of Magic was over. They packed up their bags slowly - Briony was in full flow about Malcolm again, while Talia listened silently, seemingly in spite of herself. And something clicked in Charlie's head - there was something in Talia's expression that Charlie hadn't even noticed before, let alone understood. But she saw it now, she saw the look of longing and pain on her face - something she could only see now because she knew exactly how it felt, and was feeling the same thing.

Charlie swallowed, feeling like she had stumbled across something incredibly private, that she never should have seen.

They headed to Transfiguration - Anna was in deep conversation with Briony about what she should wear, so Charlie caught up to Talia, who was walking a few strides ahead of them, and threw an arm around her shoulders.

"Talia, how would you like to come to Hogsmeade on Valentine's?" she said, smiling widely. Talia glanced up, and her expression made Charlie shrug her shoulders in explanation. "Since neither of us can go with who we'd really like to," she added, with a grim, apologetic smile.

Talia's face crumpled. "You really want to go with him?"

Charlie just inclined her head. "It's nothing," she said dismissively. "How about it?"

Talia pondered for a second, and then nodded. "Sounds great, Charlie. Thanks."

"No problem," Charlie said with a bright smile. Anna called for them to hurry up. "Come on," she said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "You know how crabby she gets. Just try not to think about it, okay?"

Talia nodded, and fell into step beside Briony, with a small, passive smile, and the pair of them strolled on ahead. Anna turned her gaze to Charlie.

"You're okay, right?" she asked, grimacing.

Charlie blinked. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Anna only gave her one word; "Potter."

Charlie let out a heavy sigh. "I'm fine, Anna."

"What, you didn't let him get to you, did you?" Anna said reproachfully.

Charlie managed a grim smile. "Not exactly."

Anna stared at her suspiciously for a second, before letting out a tiny gasp. "Oh, Charlie, tell me you're not in love with him!" Charlie opened her mouth to protest. "Charlie," Anna said warningly. "That boy is trouble."

"I know," said Charlie. "Some girls like a bit of trouble."

"You can't, Charlie, please," Anna begged. Charlie bit her lip so hard she thought she drew blood.

"Look, Anna, I'm not in control of how I feel." Anna stopped walking - some unfortunate Hufflepuff second years bumped right into her, but quickly scurried off after she turned around and bellowed at them to watch where they were going - and she turned to Charlie with her mouth agape.

"So what are you going to do about it?" she demanded, in a snappish voice that irked Charlie.

"I could always go out with Andrew, I suppose," Charlie muttered, raking her fingers through her hair.

"From bad to - well, not worse, but hardly much better," Anna remarked.

Charlie sighed. "What would you have me do, Anna?"

Anna grinned. "I can brew you a Forgetfulness Potion, you won't even know his name, it'll be -"

"No," Charlie said resolutely. "I just have to handle this. Okay? I've just got to handle it." It wasn't just Anna she was telling that to - she was trying to convince herself of that too, hoping she'd simply wake up one day and believe herself.

They took their seats at the back of the Transfiguration classroom - a nice perk for being one of the first there, as usual. Anna would sniff at the thought, but it was convenient.

The first thing Professor Callworth did was hand back their tests - Charlie could feel her anxiety brewing in her stomach. That had been a particularly hard test and she was feeling sick about it, particularly since she was usually quite good at Transfiguration.

And in the corner was a spiky red 'D'. Professor Callworth eyed her sternly as he handed it back. "Disappointing work, Miss Alexander." _He_ whipped around at the sound of her name, but Charlie was determined not to meet his eye.

If she thought that was the worst it could - she had thought wrong. Anna handed her a piece of parchment about ten minutes into the lesson, claiming it had fallen out of her Transfiguration. Charlie took it, and recognized Katie's neat handwriting.

'_Charlie, didn't have time to catch you, but Lizzie's hopping mad. Dad sent a letter about us going to mum's for Christmas, he's not very happy. He said we needn't come home. And Peter's like an antichrist, since we didn't send him anything for his birthday. Did you forget? I know I did.'_

Charlie sighed, crumpling up the note. She had given Lizzie something small for her birthday, which was over two weeks ago. But Peter . . . What magical object could she send that an entirely non-magical fourteen-year-old boy would appreciate? Nothing, that's what.

Charlie buried her face in her arms on the table. This couldn't get any worse.

XXX

It was an understatement to say that by Quidditch practice on Tuesday, Charlie was on her last nerve. To her dejection, she had barely five seconds in the changing room before Andrew was at her side.

"You thought about it at all?" he asked her bluntly, and she resisted the urge to snap something nasty. But she couldn't do anything to quell the twinge of annoyance that surfaced.

She took a deep breath to calm herself before she replied. "I haven't really had a chance to, Andrew," she muttered, focusing very carefully on putting on her gloves instead of looking at him.

"Can you think now?" he asked, half-grinning.

She sighed. "I can't," she said with a certain smugness, delighted she had made plans with Talia. "I promised Talia I'd go to Hogsmeade with her, she's a little . . . down."

"Well, some other time then?" he asked hopefully.

She sighed again. She didn't care what she said or what she promised. She just wanted him to leave her alone for five minutes. "Maybe, Andrew."

"If you're ready -" James snapped from behind them, and Charlie bit on her lip. Every time he opened his mouth was like a personal offence, a little tiny knife in her heart. She turned, folding her arms across her chest, and waited for his pep-talk, feeling irked by the broad smile on Andrew's face.

"Right," James said, in what was a cheerful enough tone. "This is a big game. In fact, this is the one to make us or break us. If we win this, it's smooth sailing from there out. Which means we need to win by a good point difference." Some were nodding. "So take as many goals as you can," he said, nodding towards his Chasers. "And if the Keeper could let as few goals past her as possible, that would be great," he announced to no one in particular. Charlie scowled. That hurt more than she cared to admit.

"This is the most important game of the year," James said. "In fact, it's the most important thing you'll do this year." That again, cut deeper than she expected. She glared, and James went on, until it seemed he could take it no longer.

"Something to add?" he asked her, in what would have perfectly civil if she hadn't been able to hear the icy undertone.

She shook her head. "I was just thinking about how Quidditch is all that's important to you." It was his turn to glare.

"Well, maybe it is," he said coolly. "Right, let's go," he said to the team, with a heavy sigh.

But that wasn't the end of it. "You don't really think that, do you?" he hissed in her ear, as they filed out. She clenched her fists.

"Why wouldn't I?" she retorted, feeling her hands tremble with anger. "Wouldn't put it past you."

"Oh come on," he said frustratedly, gaping at her.

"We better go practise," she said coolly. It hurt to be so close to him - she wasn't going to pretend that it didn't. She knew now why she was so carefully avoiding him - it wasn't worth it to try and talk to him, no matter what he had to say. "This is, after all, the most important thing we'll do all year."

James grabbed her arm, and she whipped around, not even bothering to yank it out of his grasp. "Are you going to go out with him?" he asked.

"Why do you care?" she snarled up at him, seething.

James' expression went blank. "I never said that I did," he said hoarsely.

"Well then," Charlie said, in an overly sweet tone. "Kindly release my arm." She dropped her pretense as she wrenched her arm out of his grip. "I need it to catch your bloody Quaffle for you," she muttered sullenly, stalking out of the changing room.

XXX

She should have known. Why hadn't she seen anything of this coming? But she supposed, she had. But it just hadn't bothered her.

She met Talia at the foot of the steps to the Entrance Hall on Friday, and the two of them set off for Hogsmeade. Charlie knew that both of them were making an extra effort to be cheerful, and she was quite happy to let it go by without saying anything. Maybe they both needed that.

But it didn't help that Charlie was dying to ask Talia about Briony, to hear what was really going on. She had only gotten one look. But one look was enough - it mirrored so exactly what she was feeling, how could she _not _have seen it?

However, Talia didn't mention it, or mention Briony at all. In fact, neither of them even acknowledged that it was Valentine's Day. Although, once they got to Hogsmeade, this task became much harder. Every shop window was draped and laden with pink hearts and frills, coffee shops and restaurants were offering couple's deals, and someone had unleashed a few cherubs that reminded Charlie vaguely of garden gnomes, which were now flitting about the air and dumping unholy amounts of flower petals over people's heads.

Talia and Charlie ducked into a small, new café for a few hours, one that specialized in dishes and drinks from other parts of the world. Everywhere Charlie looked was pink and purple, and everything seemed overdone and overkilled.

"So do you want to tell me what's going on?" Talia asked, just as Charlie noticed the rain started to patter on the window.

"What do you mean?" she asked distractedly, taking another ginger sip of her bright pink drink.

Talia raised one eyebrow skeptically. "Well, for a start, you're awfully quiet," she pointed out.

"I could say the same thing to you," retorted Charlie. In fact, there were plenty things that Charlie could have been quiet about - the situation with her parents, trying to act as a good sister but always failing _one _of them, especially when she forget their birthdays; or the fact that she was now failing Transfiguration without even knowing when it had happened. James Potter was just one of the several things that she couldn't handle. And when they all piled on top of each other, they seemed so much heavier, so much more unbearable. But she held her tongue, not wanting Talia to worry about her.

Talia acted as though she hadn't heard her. "And you've been acting weird whenever he's around," she added, waiting.

Charlie sighed. "It's not that simple. And I don't even know what it is. But I know it's not simple."

Talia pursed her lips. "Would it help if I told you to follow your heart?" she said jokingly.

"It would not," replied Charlie with a smile, though she knew Talia didn't realize how much truth were in her words. Her head and heart were currently waging an endless, tempestuously violent battle. Listening to either one hadn't worked so far. "Do you want me to ask about Briony?" she said to Talia.

Her face hardened. "I'd rather not," she muttered. "Now _that's _complicated. At least _he _likes you back," she said sullenly.

Charlie clicked her tongue. "Apparently not," she said articulately, shrugging her shoulders.

Once they had downed their drinks and paid, they decided it was about time they called it a day. Romance was everywhere, and neither girls were in the mood for it, though they both appreciated each other's company for the day - the one day were someone who was alone felt lonely.

It was starting to rain a little harder now, and Charlie yanked up her hood and stared at the ground to keep most of the rain off her face as they walked, but they had barely come to the end of the street when Talia nudged her, and then nudged her again more aggressively until she looked up. Talia nodded her head in the opposite direction, and Charlie looked around, her face darkening.

"Oh, you must be kidding me," she muttered. She didn't want to _talk _to him, not now, not ever. So what was he doing? What did he possibly have to say?

"I'll just . . . I'll just head on up," said Talia shrewdly, already taking a few steps ahead. "Give you a minute." At Charlie's expression, she lowered her voice. "Just listen to him," she hissed imploringly, and Charlie had no choice but to turn around and fold her arms across her chest.

It was pouring rain now, and her hair was heavy and dripping. "Can I help you?" she asked coldly, eyeing him up and down.

"Maybe you can, you can help me escape Sophie," muttered James. "Did you know she followed me here?"

"Well, you don't want to leave her waiting too long," Charlie said with a shrug, leaning up against the wall to avoid having more rain spattered on her face. "Even though I don't recall you expressing an interest in her in the first place."

"I don't," James said quickly, and Charlie resisted the urge to seize him and shake him until he started making sense. "About Sophie -"

"I don't want to _talk _about Sophie!" she snapped, covering her face with her hands, feeling droplets of rain land on her fingers like they hoped to pry her hands from her face.

She waited, feeling the chill start to creep up on her, until she was shivering. "I need to talk to you," James said, shaking the water from his hair.

"Well, I don't want to talk to you," Charlie said coldly. Lie, she thought bitterly. "I wouldn't want you to think I was delusional or anything."

"It's important," James insisted.

Charlie rolled her eyes, hoisting herself off the wall. "Right," she muttered sarcastically, pushing past him. "I'm sure it's a matter of life or death."

"_Please, _Charlie," he croaked, and Charlie felt a hiccup in her heartbeat. In spite of herself, she swallowed and turned back around, and once she saw his face, her heart gave a pang and thudded at double time.

"You called me Charlie," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

James flushed. "Don't get used to it," he said quietly, looking at his shoes. Charlie wrinkled her nose and wiped the excess water falling on her face away. But just looking at him, she knew what she wanted. It just seemed so terribly out of reach. And yet here he was; she grabbed his wrist and pulled him down a sidestreet.

"Alright, you've got two minutes," she muttered, in a much harsher tone than she really meant. In fact, her insides were beginning to feel like mush. "What do you want? You're driving me crazy."

James paused for a second, and then threw her a crooked smirk. "Am I?" he said in triumph, and she stumbled back to the wall as he took a step forward, his smirk becoming more and more pronounced.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, wishing her voice hadn't gone so quiet, as she attempted to claw together the sopping hair that was plastered to her face.

"Why?" he asked innocently, dragging away some runaway strands with his finger. Almost hesitantly his fingertips seemed to linger, tracing her temples and her cheekbones, outlining the shape of her mouth like he was trying to commit it to memory. She let her eyes flutter shut for a second, her head spinning as his fingertips left her mouth and trailed down to her neck, pulling her closer.

His lips had just brushed off hers when she stumbled into him, burying her face in his shoulder.

"No, James," she mumbled. "Don't - "

"Charlie, just look at me," he said gently. Charlie looked up unwillingly, bracing herself for his smirk or that cold distance in his eyes - but there was none. His eyes were fixed on hers, somber behind his dark, thick lashes. Gentleness was not something she associated with him, but it was there in his eyes, in the softness of his voice, in the way his hands hesitantly slid to her waist. The look in his eyes - so clear and tender - was something she had never seen before, and it was that, more than anything else, that stopped her protest when he brought his mouth back flush on hers.

And his lips were so soft, his glancing, butterfly kisses across her mouth were deliberate and unhurried, as if he could tell her things he could not say with words. And Charlie couldn't pretend she wanted him to stop; her nerves seared and the shudders he sent down her spine almost seemed to splinter her bones.

And surely someone with such gentleness had to have felt _something. _She reached up to tangle her fingers in his black hair, to feel his pulse thudding when she trailed her fingers down his neck. His breath caught and his hands flattened against her back, and as she felt his self-control ebbing away only to be replaced by a growing, demanding urgency, she was only vaguely aware of him pushing her back to the wall, pressing his body firmly against hers so that she couldn't feel the air in her lungs. And there was only him, in the entire world, there was only him and the feel of his mouth on hers and his hands on her skin.

She ran her hands along his arms, whispering his name between kisses, her hands slipping to his chest to clutch the folds of his shirt. She let out a gasp when he pulled away from her to smile and push the hair from her face. And the world outside of the two of them came tumbling down with the rain spattering on Charlie's face, awakening her to what was happening, and suddenly all she could hear was his harsh words in her ear, the look of contempt on his face when he'd looked at her at Quidditch.

Her hands on his chest shoved him away from her, and her fingertips found her mouth, still tingling where his lips had seemed to burn hers. "What are you - you don't have the fucking right," she sputtered, avoiding his gaze, her chest still heaving. "Who do you - who do you think you are?"

"Charlie, please think about it," James said, confusion clear on his face as he stepped forward again. "When was the last time I was so horrible to you?"

"_When you were telling me how delusional I was!" _she screeched, and it only made her feel worse to hear the pain in her voice. She couldn't help but pause and look at herself - how on earth did she get here? When had any of this happened?

"That was a mistake," James said quickly, brushing it off far easier than Charlie would have liked. "But apart from that? Every time Fred tried to say something, I walked away."

That hit home, but not how she supposed James would have hoped. "Well, you shouldn't have!" she yelled, lashing out at his arm when he reached out. "You should have said something, but you just went along with it like you always did! And you told me you felt nothing," she added bitterly, and took a moment to steady her breathing, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands were fists clenched at her sides, which didn't stop them trembling with rage.

James said nothing. She couldn't even look at him, even when the silence became unbearable, and she craved to know what he was thinking. She didn't know what he was waiting for, but she had wasted enough time. "_You're _the one who told me I was delusional," she said, finally meeting his gaze. "That's what _you _said. So you know what? Fine," she said with conviction. "You made your decision, let's keep it that way."

James gaped at her for a second, but Charlie just shook her head. "Why don't we just leave each other alone?" she suggested, hearing and hating the desperation in her own voice.

"Charlie, please . . . " he muttered. She bit her lip. "I don't know if I can just . . . forget you exist," he told her, in what was clearly meant to be a cool tone.

She shrugged. "No one's asking you to. Just . . ."

"Be friends, is that it?" he asked, bitterly.

"Is that so bad?" she snapped, glaring up at him. He bit his lip again, but she was already pushing past him, back into the welcome cover of the crowds she could lose herself in. She fought her way past as she fought the tears finally piercing her eyes.

She didn't really believe she knew what heartbreak was - but whatever it was that she feeling ought to be quite close to the real thing. But she wouldn't allow herself to believe that this was heartbreak, not for a second. She couldn't be _broken _so easily, not when she had fought so hard, not when he had played with her head. She wouldn't let herself feel like that over him, simply because he was who he was. Maybe that was why it hurt so much.

She replayed the day in her head a million times, and hours later, when she was doing her rounds with Andrew - after all, Valentine's Day was one of the worst for catching people in classrooms after curfew, and it was her misfortunate duty to clear out the corridors - and it seemed like years ago, something that had been gnawing away at her for so long, some pain that she woke up with every morning for years on end.

But it wasn't - the wound was fresh, mere hours old. And every time she replayed it, a few tears would escape her hold.

Andrew, of course, wasn't going to pretend that he didn't notice.

"Something wrong?" he said, in a tentative tone.

_Everything. _"No, I'm just - I have a lot going on," she said, running her hands through her hair.

She could hear him sigh. "Do you need to talk about it or . . . ?"

"No!" said Charlie quickly, but his dubious expression seemed to break her, and the next thing she knew she was spilling her guts to him, all about her grades slipping, and trying to hold her family together by her fingertips, and her brother and sisters. And before she knew it, she was crying.

"And Potter -" she got to eventually, before she cut herself off with a frown, impatiently wiping away a few tears.

"What about Potter?" Andrew said sharply, and before he had rearranged his features to look concerned and soft, Charlie saw a look of pure unadulterated hatred and rage flash across his face.

Charlie opened her mouth, but no sounds came out. Instead, more tears just spilled before she could stop them. She wondered whether Andrew could read her mind - she would have guessed from his face that he could - and if he could, she expected him to have been angry. But he looked sort of resigned as he pulled her into a hug and waited for her tears to stop.

The flow of her tears slowed eventually, and Charlie started to feel panicked and nervous, and she suddenly wished the ground could have swallowed her up. He bowed his head to see her face, and Charlie felt her heart rate quicken - but not with excitement; instead, with fear and anxiety bubbling drearily in her stomach.

She backed away quickly; just as sharply Andrew had caught her arm and pulled her against him. Charlie realized what he was going to do a split second before he did it, and she went rigid with shock as he leaned in to kiss her.

His mouth found hers and she froze, the only thing running through her head was how this was _nothing, _didn't he _know _how she wanted to be kissed? Didn't he -

She broke away with a gasp and tears brimmed over too rapidly to do anything about them. "Andrew -" she croaked, grimacing. But Andrew wasn't looking at her, he was looking over her shoulder. Charlie whipped her head around, her heart grinding to a painful halt in her chest like she already knew what she was going to find when she turned around.

He had already turned on his heel and was walking the other way, but not before Charlie felt the air leave her lungs and the blood in her veins cold as she caught one look at his expression.

And there it was. Heartbreak.

* * *

**Relatively important author's note: **After careful consideration (of my sanity) I've decided to go back over earlier chapters and fix them up, since some of them are laden with errors, or really poorly written. There won't be anything added that will change the storyline or what you have to know to read on, but I'll probably add bits that were really cut for no reason and that should have been there. If you'd like to go back and read the changes, be my guest, but it's certainly not necessary.

Anyway, this fic is keeping me going while I'm sick (yay hospital, yay!), so reviews are literally the most awesome thing ever. Okay, done begging.

And thank you very much for reading, let me know what you thought!


	24. Would Stay The Same

Thank you so much for all the reviews! I wanted to reply to them all, but there just wasn't the time, things have been a little hectic over the last few days. But the beds are really uncomfortable, so no sleep means I got some writing done. Don't own this. I've lost track of swearing and any other things I've had to warn about. They're probably in here somewhere. Okay, onward!

* * *

**Would Stay The Same**

James tossed and turned the night away, and once he had given sleep up as impossible, he stared at the ceiling and ran over his thoughts a thousand time until it felt like there were a thousand voices echoing in his head, all shouting at him as he watched the dim light creep into his room and silently across the ceiling until the room was bathed in life.

This continued for days on end, until he had memorized the way the sun hit the floor as it rose, and the way the dust swirled in the light. A prominent thought was how unbelievably stupid he had been to talk away - because if ever Wood deserved a punch in the face, it had been then - and he had not spoken to either of them since, not during classes or at training. He had shut down for the week.

But as he had already told them, Saturday brought along a very important match for them - and he knew that there was a very slim chance he could successfully avoid them for the entire day.

Though there was nothing he wanted to do less, he would have to get up soon, he would have to muster some energy from somewhere - there was an early Quidditch practice scheduled for the morning, as they had a match to play a little later on in the day. When he eventually got up, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he was so drained of energy that he thought he was going to faint.

His eyes were sore and tired and he didn't have the heart or the energy to speak to anybody. His heart felt so heavy, and yet at the same time he felt drained and numb. He felt sick to his stomach, and foolishly skipped breakfast, thinking that he'd pick up something between training and the match.

He wished he could say that everything fell into place easily, that nothing was out of the norm. But it wasn't. He had only walked into the changing room before his eyes had found her; Charlie glanced up when he walked in, and for a minute she didn't break his gaze, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but didn't know how. He bit his lip, wondering was she as short of breath as he was - she seemed a little weak at the knees, as she stumbled when Grace bumped into her by mistake. But she hardly even noticed Grace, and after a second her gaze fixed on him began to make his skin burn and his heart stammered and protested at this - _pain. _

But like it had not known enough pain already, after a second his eyes slipped unwillingly to Andrew, whose broad smile roused the urge to punch something, and when he looked back at Charlie, she had half turned away and was tying up her hair as she bit her lip almost guiltily, her eyes glistening.

James couldn't remember feeling like this; just being around her left him completely and blissfully intoxicated when he looked at her, and no matter how far he'd gone with a girl, he couldn't remember feeling numb but at the same time feeling like every inch of him was burning, and all he had to do was look at her. He wondered what would happen if she even smiled, laid her hand over his.

And couldn't she hear his heart thudding? It seemed such an almighty sound. Didn't she see how utterly lost he felt? Couldn't she feel it, didn't she sense how much he wanted to talk to her? Why didn't she know how an immense longing to simply see her smile was coursing through his veins?

Grace laid her hand on his arm, and James forced himself to turn away to find her frowning.

"You okay?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting together.

James nodded, his eyes flickering to Charlie once more. She was looking right at him, the same way they all were. How could she do that - look at him so easily, and not feel like her heart was too weak for all she felt? Because it hurt for him to even be in the same room with her. He was so remarkably aware of her presence, and yet her close proximity seemed to consume all of him, and he was completely unaware to everything else.

He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, not quite knowing what to do with himself. He opened his mouth to speak to his team, but he could feel her eyes on him, and he gave up, waving their expectation away. He didn't want to speak - he didn't think he could.

Throwing each other quizzical, puzzled looks, they accepted that he wasn't going to say anything. All except Andrew, who raised his eyebrows.

"Well?" he asked, and maybe it was James' imagination, but he could have sworn that he could detect the underlying smugness in Andrew's tone. James clenched his fists, his fingers itching. Proud of himself, was he?

"Don't," said James simply, staring at the ground rather than at Andrew, or worse, at her. He had never wanted to throttle another person more. Andrew threw his hands up in defense, but he was wearing a sick smile that James found infuriating. For one fleeting second, he wondered what would happen if he just threw caution to the winds and did what he'd wanted to do for an entire week, as it was taking all he had to restrain himself.

Quite tentatively, the team kicked off from the ground and James followed, leaving all his thoughts on the ground where they belonged. This was Quidditch - this was what he'd practically spent his entire school career focusing on, much to his mother's annoyance. And he wasn't going to let anything screw that up.

And the practice went surprisingly normally - James should have known that once he got himself on a broom he'd be fine, for a few minutes he'd feel like his old self again. It was quite simple really - avoid looking at her, avoid checking to see if she saved the goals, avoid praising her or criticizing her. In short, just avoid her, and let her do her job.

Andrew was a different story. Every time he grabbed the Quaffle, James couldn't shake the hope that he'd drop it or fall off his broom, and every time Bobby or Paul flew past, James silently hoped that they'd mistake Andrew's head for a Bludger.

But no one hit Andrew over the head, unfortunately, and once they were flying fine James ended practice quickly, having spotted Max waiting in the stands for him.

"Not bad," said Max once James had sat down beside him, nodding out towards where the team had been playing a few minutes before.

James grinned. "Yeah, they're making up for a game that was cancelled last term, so we had to fit a practice in somewhere," he said, sighing.

Max nodded. "The whole school is coming."

James didn't miss a beat. "Of course they are; I'm playing."

Max rolled his eyes. "Right."

"Coming to the after party?" James asked him, staring out at the pitch.

Max raised his eyebrows. "How do you know there's going to be one?" James threw him an '_oh please' _expression, and Max laughed. "What if you don't win?"

"When has that ever happened?" James retorted quickly.

"But what if it does?" Max insisted.

James shrugged his shoulders. "We drink ourselves to sleep?"

Max laughed. "Sounds like a plan. Speaking of plans," he said, leaning forward with his elbows balanced on his knees. "Have you been talking to Charlie?"

James looked at him quizzically. "Speaking of plans?" he echoed. Max nodded. With a sigh, James ruffled his hair and shook his head. "Er - sort of."

"What does sort of mean?" asked Max cautiously.

James grimaced. "A little. Kind of. Not really. Define 'talking'."

"Oh Merlin, James," exclaimed Max, looking at James incredulously. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" James shot back. "Alright, maybe not nothing - but still . . . " he trailed off. Max's expression was unusually stern. And James broke under it and explained everything, from right before Christmas up until last week, though he left out the torturous week he'd just spent.

Once James finished, Max swore loudly. "The little snake!" he remarked. "I thought Wood was an alright guy."

James shook his head, his features darkening. "No, he was always a tool."

Max swore under his breath again, and then looked at James. "So what are you going to do?" he asked, in a voice that sounded very like the own, cruelly accusing one inside his own head.

"Nothing I _can _do, is there?" James muttered. "Besides . . . Fred . . . "

Max rolled his eyes. "Forget Fred for a moment. Deal with Fred later. And besides," Max said pointedly. "If nothing comes of it you won't have to worry about telling him." James nodded his head, unable to discredit his logic.

"You want to know what I think?" said Max, now smiling again.

"I'm sure you'll tell me anyway," replied James; he could just about see the first droves of people starting to pour into the stadium.

"I think you should do what you'd do if you didn't have to worry about Fred," said Max, in what was obviously his wisest voice. "And forget Andrew. Do what you'd do if he wasn't in the picture."

"I wish I could but -"

"You can," Max cut across him. "Trust me. You think she'd choose Andrew over you?" James couldn't help but flinch at the prospect - it all seemed so black and white. He couldn't remember when Max had figured all this out. But it seemed he had, and instead of asking questions - he was already waiting for something to happen.

"What if she does?" James asked in spite of himself, wishing he couldn't hear the genuine fear in his own voice.

But Max just grinned. "Only one way to find out, isn't there?" James pulled a face. "Or you can go on letting it kill you, if you'd prefer," Max said lightly. "Your funeral."

James threw him a dark look and got to his feet. "Right, point taken. I better go."

"Yeah," Max said, waving his hands to shoo him away. "Good luck, lover boy."

XXX

The match did not go as planned. Maybe it was what Max had said, maybe it was the way James could see Andrew leering at her. Or maybe it was just the way she seemed to get on with it like she wasn't crumbling to pieces on the inside, so effortlessly.

She even managed a small smile in his direction just before the game, and it irked James to no end that he knew more of all the stars and seas than of what was going through her brain. And with one look, she could read him plainly.

But something went horribly wrong, and James seemed to forget that it was the game he was playing. He seemed to forget everything, in fact. He could barely tell what he was doing, flying aimlessly around the pitch, the cheers from the crowd sounding oddly distant to him. His head was so full it seemed to block out the entire world.

Grace zoomed past him, gaping. "_Aren't you supposed to be catching the Snitch or something?!" _she screeched.

The Snitch had never escaped him before. Gryffindor won by the tips of their fingers, two hundred and forty to two hundred and thirty, and even as he touched down with a breath of relief, he felt a swell of pride for his well-chosen Chasers, who had won the match for Gryffindor. He saw the other team's Seeker release the Snitch into the air as, exhausted, they filed past, whooping and cheering with relief.

Once they had retreated back to the changing room, Grace was at his side in an instant. "What on earth happened up there?" she demanded, shaking her head at him.

And James shrugged his shoulders. "No idea."

She blinked at him, and eventually shook her head. "You should eat something," she said, patting his shoulder before she turned away. The team left in bits and pieces to head up to the party, except for Andrew, who loitered so he could grab James' arm and ask him for a word.

"Make it quick, Wood," said James coldly. "There's a lot of alcohol waiting for me in the common room."

"Spare me the repartee," retorted Andrew, and his cheeriness seemed to melt away like boiling water melted a block of ice. "I want to talk to you about Charlie."

"What about her?" said James quickly, and he was reminded of Anna shouting at him in the dungeons, and he couldn't help but wonder whether he was going to get another lecture. He didn't think he could stomach another lecture.

"I think you need to back off, mate," Andrew said bluntly. "You can't just - "

"I can't just what?" James said, unable to stop himself smirking.

"Oh come off it, Potter," Andrew laughed. "She has more taste than that. And there's no need to take it so seriously - "

Before he knew what he was doing, James had shoved him against the wall and grabbed him by the collar, and there was no time for a silly wand; his fist was already clenched. "Try it, and I swear, I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

Andrew raised his eyebrows, blinking in astonishment. He rearranged his features to look cool and aloof after a second. "Blimey," he muttered icily. "Who knew you could care so much, Potter?"

James stared, and when Andrew smirked he released him, still fighting the urge to knock every tooth out of his skull. Without another word he grabbed his things and stalked out of the changing room, only to be met by Max's keen, expectant stare.

"What was all that about?" he asked, falling into step beside James.

"Let's just say, I really need a drink."

Rapturous applause greeted the team when they arrived back at the common room, and James put on a brave face and allowed the entire room to hug him and clap him on the back and wring his hand. It seemed like he was the only one who wasn't allowed to enjoy himself at all, and looking around the room, he felt so totally removed from all of it.

He could see Charlie, and to his horror, she was chatting with Andrew and leaning against a wall, and she looked as if she didn't have a care in the world. She caught his eye and smiled, but her attention was on Andrew, and feeling sick, James accepted the drink that Max was offering him and slouched in an armchair in the corner, not in the mood for festivities for the first time in history.

He tried to keep his eyes off her, really tried. But he couldn't for very long, until Anna Goldstein perched herself on the armrest of his chair and smirked down at him. "You played well today, Potter," she remarked.

"Excuse me?" he said coldly. She blinked down at him with an innocent expression. "Well, firstly, don't lie, I played like shit today," James told her. "And secondly, why are you bothering to lie to me?"

"Well _I _thought you played well," she said petulantly.

"You clearly don't know very much about it, then, do you?" James snapped, but that only made Anna smirk.

"Something wrong, Potter?" she said quietly. James glanced around the common room for a second.

"None of your business," he muttered gloomily.

"Is it now?" she said, feigning a sweet voice that he didn't really trust. He glanced up at her. "Well, you looked like you needed someone to talk to," she explained. "Or whatever," she added, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

James paused, catching sight of her expression. Her fingers trailed delicately along the collar of his shirt and he frowned, batting her hand away. "What do you want, Goldstein?" he said tiredly, taking another drink that was floating past their heads and downing it.

"Do I have to draw you a picture?" she said dryly. James opened his mouth to reply, but he caught sight of Andrew and Charlie over her shoulder, talking over some Butterbeer. It looked sort of idyllic, like it was perfect picture of the pair of them, though he couldn't see her face. But it wasn't perfect, nothing was perfect.

James bit his lip, and Anna seemed to take that as an encouragement, slipping her hand around his arm. James looked up at her with contempt, but he didn't say anything. He didn't want to think about it, about any of it, just for a little while. So he sighed and let her drag him out of the common room.

XXX

James didn't say much to anybody about the match or the party, and he didn't bother to pretend that his mood wasn't deteriorating, that he was barely listening in class over the week.

He didn't even bother to make it look like he was listening when Professor Callworth asked him what he was supposed to be cautious about when transfiguring things to porcelain.

"Sir, if you thought that I cared, I profusely apologize, I've led you on," he muttered, examining his nails disinterestedly. A few girls in class tittered and the boys roared with laughter; usually, James would have grinned at the giggling girls and winked, but he just glared at them as if to demand what right they had to laugh at his joke.

"Detention, Potter," Callworth said calmly.

"I'm afraid that won't work, Sir," he said quickly. "I'm in detention all next week."

"Well, I'm sure we'll find something for you to do the week after," Callworth said grimly. "And ten points from Gryffindor." James scowled. "Now, if you wouldn't mind giving me a moment of your time, I'll have you up here please."

He pointed to a desk at the front, and Charlie - who had been turned around to hiss at Andrew behind her - jerked up. "Oh, Sir!" she said reproachfully. "There's no need to punish _me _as well!"

James blanched and stared at her for a second, and she went red in the face at this outburst.

Callworth just shook his head. "Up here, Potter!" he barked. "Now!"

And grumbling, James reluctantly moved to the front of the class, catching Max's wide-eyed expression as he did. He could just hear the last dregs of her conversation as he sat down.

"Look, there's too much going on right now," she was whispering hurriedly, like she hoped to stream it all out before he heard anything. "And I'm not saying not never, I swear, Andrew. Just . . . not right now, alright?"

"But - "

Charlie had already turned around and Andrew cut himself off; James didn't mean to, but it seemed like his eyes had rolled themselves of their own accord. She caught him and looked at him almost apologetically. And it hit him - it was now or never.

For the rest of the class there was nothing but the scratches of quills, and once James had hastily scribbled out anything to answer the questions they had been set, he threw caution to the winds and turned to Charlie, who glanced up, her hair falling into her eyes.

"Would you mind if we talked for a second?" he hissed, with a quick look at Andrew to make sure he couldn't hear. She raised her eyebrows. "Just a second, I swear. And I won't waste anymore of your time."

Charlie blew the hair out of her eye and rubbed at her cheek distractedly. "Yeah, alright," she muttered, in an equally low voice, as she cast an equally furtive look around the classroom. "I meant to talk to you after . . . after last week."

"Last week?" James repeated dryly.

"Look, I'm not going out with him," she muttered. "I swear I'm not. We're not dating, it was just . . . It all got too much and . . . We were just kissing, honestly."

James took a second, wondering did she know that every single word she spoke was like another blow to his chest. "Right," he said, his throat oddly constricted. "Well, that makes it a lot better."

She looked at him with sad eyes. "I know it was bad timing. Really bad timing. And I hope it wasn't weird for you to see it or anything," she added. James swallowed. _Why would that be weird? _he thought to himself. _It's not like I love her or anything._ "Because . . . " she took a deep breath. "I was starting to think that we could be good friends. And I'm thinking I'm sort of in a place where I'd really like that, you know?"

James swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling his heart began to hammer and ache. "Right, yeah. That's just what I was going to say." Lie. Immediately, the voice in his head started yelling at him.

"It was?" she said, blinking.

"Of course," he said, forcing himself to grin. "Gotten over it, moved on, don't feel anything," he rattled off on his fingers. "Et cetera, et cetera," he added, smiling grimly. She threw him a small smile.

"Right," she said, nodding her head. "So we're good?"

James felt his heart stammer in his chest at the sight of her smile, but he nodded. After all, she _was _smiling. "Yeah. We're good."

XXX

James didn't leave the common room that weekend. There was a lot of superstition circling around about the leap day, and he had heard several strange rumours about what was going to happen. Bad jokes, they sounded like to him. At least the pranks that he and his friends planned were tasteful.

It was quite a strange sight to see James Potter reading or doing homework, and he caught a few puzzled looks in his direction. But he was looking for a distraction. He'd thought about very little else since he left the classroom on Thursday, and came to no decision or conclusion, apart from the one he'd given her.

"James, what are you doing?"

"Studying," replied James innocently, raising his eyes to his little sister, who had scrambled into the chair opposite him.

"Is that so?" she said wryly, reminding James of their mother.

"Yes," he said defensively. "Make sure you tell mum."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'll tell her you've studied _once." _

"Blimey, Lil," James muttered. "You know I don't need to study."

Lily offered him a small smile. "And that brings me back to - what are you doing?"

"Dunno," James muttered to his parchment, biting his lip. Lily sighed and gazed at him for a second, her expression calculating. "What?" he said eventually.

"You waiting for someone?" she asked, and the smile that grew on her mouth suggested that she knew a lot more than she'd let on.

"What makes you ask that?" he said quickly, making Lily laugh.

"It's the only thing I can think of," she remarked, raising her eyebrows.

James rolled his eyes. He loved Lily to death, but she was too damned perceptive for her own good. He wondered if she had just sought him out for idle chatter, and realized how much he'd been in his own head the last few weeks. "Listen, Lil," he said quietly. "Everything going okay?"

She blinked in confusion.

"Not having any more trouble, are you?" he asked her. "About . . . anything?"

Lily looked at him suspiciously. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, why?" he replied.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Look, James, you're my brother and I know you love me and you'd rip the limbs off anyone who tried to hurt me and all that," she said briskly; James nodded approvingly. "But . . . You're acting weird."

"I'm acting weird?" he repeated, frowning at her.

"Different," she said imploringly. "All considerate and stuff."

"Of course I'm considerate," said James, pretending to snap at her. "What makes you think I'm not considerate?"

Lily raised her eyebrows, but she was staring over his shoulder, a knowing smile slowly creeping up on her. "So you _are _waiting for someone," she said, grinning broadly now.

"W-what makes you say that?" he repeated, almost a little frustratedly.

Lily shrugged her shoulders with an excited smile. "Well, she just walked in, didn't she?"

Before he could stop himself, James whipped around, and all the long hours he'd spent stressing over how to remedy the mess he'd made seemed to fade away when he saw Charlie walk in and dump her bag unceremoniously on a table - and what was more, by herself.

"Well, I take it that it's time for me to leave," smirked Lily. Something dawned on James just as she stood up.

"Have you been talking to Teddy?" he hissed at her, making her laugh.

"There it is," she remarked, and winked at him before she left.

James tried to make it look like he was busy once Lily had scarpered off, but in a second, Charlie had spotted him and ambled over, folding her arms across the back of the chair that Lily had just vacated. "Doing some study?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

James sighed, keeping his eyes fixed on his homework. "Trying to," he muttered.

"Oh," Charlie muttered. "So . . . I can't sit down?"

James grinned up at her. "Of course, go ahead," he said simply. She sat down with a small smile, and James felt like all the air had been removed from his lungs. She rested her chin in her hand and looked down at the books strewn across the table.

"This is a strange sight," she remarked. "Someone should be taking photographic evidence."

"Ha ha," he said dryly, moving some books so that she had some elbow room. He needed to relax, and their conversation from the other day kept replaying in his head - but he was still on edge, no matter what he told himself. She took up one of the books he'd shifted, and plucked out an ancient, battered looking piece of parchment.

"What's this?"

He wasn't going to pretend he didn't notice her eyes flickering between him and his map - though she didn't know what it was - every second. James opened his mouth to speak, but paused when a piece of parchment floated between the two of them. James froze; Charlie reached out and grabbed it before he could move. When she moved, her scent hit him like a ton of bricks, and he swallowed, watching her unfold the note apprehensively.

"'_Tell her, mate'?" _she read aloud, looking at him quizzically and flashing the note at him. "Tell her what?"

James bit his lip, his mouth as dry as sandpaper. He looked around for where Max was sitting, but he couldn't see him anywhere. He turned back to her.

What was he supposed to do, where his heart on his sleeve? "Oh, that's just -" he began, intending to brush it off lightly, even laugh it off. But something about her expression caught him off guard and stopped him in his tracks.

"Something wrong?" she prodded.

James sighed bitterly. "Yeah. Look, I lied to you." She blinked. "Of course I lied to you."

"About what?" she breathed.

James shrugged his shoulders. "You said you were fine being friends, and I wasn't going to tell you anything different, was I?" he said, his best efforts into making it sound offhanded.

Charlie swallowed, tucking her lip under her teeth. "You . . . You're the one who said there was nothing . . ." she croaked, inclining her head away from him like she was scared.

"I just said it, didn't I?" he muttered. "I lied. I didn't want to deal with what my friends would think."

Charlie inhaled sharply, and frowned. "Well, they mustn't be very good friends then," she said shakily, and when he didn't say anything, she shook her head and jumped up, biting her lip.

"I don't want to hear this," she muttered, making him jump when she rested her hand on his arm for a moment before she walked out again.

James froze for a second, weighing up his options. And swearing, he scrambled up and abandoning his books, he launched himself out of the common room.

She was halfway down the corridor when she heard him and wheeled around as he caught up to her. "Don't do this to me again!" she pleaded, gazing up at him fearfully.

"I'm not doing anything," he replied. "I swear! I just -"

"You said," she said quickly, pointing an accusing finger at him. "_You_ said - "

"Forget what I said, Charlie, please," he begged, taking her by the shoulders. "I'm sorry. But I'm telling you _now." _Her eyes widened and she stared, her lip trembling. "Think about it?" he murmured, staring straight into her eyes.

She took a shaky breath, but she didn't look away. Her piercing gaze gave him the uneasy impression that she knew every thought in his head, and for a second, he wondered how he could possibly have failed somehow.

But after what seemed like forever, she nodded slowly, and said two words that let a flicker of hope ignite in his chest:

"I will."

* * *

I realize that I may have gone slightly sadistic with this chapter at some places. Sorry about that! If you feel like shouting at me, go right ahead, I probably deserve it.

Anyway, thanks so much for the get well wishes, it actually does help. Anyway, reviews help me get through my day as usual. Thanks for reading!


	25. In the Blink of an Eye

I don't own Harry Potter unfortunately. I'm gonna give the usual warnings, but there's not that much in here. Okay, I'm done. Happy reading!

* * *

**In the Blink of an Eye**

Think about it. Think about what? What did he want? _How _could she have ended up here, and how could he possibly want her? Why was he all of a sudden as easy to read as an open book? Why on earth wasn't she miserable when he walked into the room? Why on earth wasn't he _trying _to make her miserable when he walked into the room?

When he asked her to think about it, he probably hadn't meant like this - constantly going over the reasons, and coming to no conclusion. Nearly a whole week she had pored over it, analyzed every last detail - and she still could not make head nor tail of any of it.

Occasionally, when he and Fred would walk into class, she would instinctively flinch or she'd bow her head so that they wouldn't see her. And the worst part was, she wasn't sure if she needed to or not. She had no doubt that Fred hadn't changed, but she wondered what James would do about it.

After an entire week, nothing had become clearer in her head, nothing felt different. She was trying to avoid Anna's questioning or accusing looks - she was almost a little ashamed of feeling the way she felt.

Charlie knew that Anna was peering at her over the top of the _Daily Prophet, _the headline of which was an obnoxiously thick: **Sosché: Should Muggles Have The Power? **

"What's all that about, Anna?" Charlie asked, nodding towards the front page.

Anna shook the paper out and frowned. "Some nutjob in Russia. He reckons that there shouldn't _be _any Muggles or something. He's trying to integrate us all."

Charlie realized a second too late that it had been the wrong time to take a sip of her orange juice; she spattered it everywhere. "Excuse me?"

Anna nodded sagely. "Mm, he wants to _'give Muggles the same power' _or something like that." At Charlie's blank expression, she went on. "This kid, right? Muggleborn back in the day, and it's different in Russia, they sort of got a hard time. So now he's fighting back." Anna shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, I'm all for marrying for love no matter what they can do with a wand but . . ." she trailed off, just as Andrew sat down beside her.

Charlie's cheeks burned and she looked away, willing herself not to remember.

"He's got the right idea," said Andrew loudly. "Muggles should have as much as we should."

"What?" said Charlie dryly. "We're supposed to shove magic down their throats? Things are fine the way they are," she muttered, thinking of her father and how little he knew. She could only imagine his face, and it wasn't pretty. Things were much better off the way they are.

"Well, it's only in Russia," said Anna briskly. "No threat to the Statute of Secrecy _here _or anything."

Andrew turned to Anna to argue another point, and a pair of hands clamped down on Charlie's shoulders, making her dribble her orange juice down her chin.

"Charming," remarked Katie, raising her eyebrows as she ushered for Charlie to move over so she could squeeze in beside her.

"What's going on?" Charlie asked her, while her friends busied themselves with their breakfast, sensing that Katie had something important to tell her older sister; she didn't bother disturbing Charlie's breakfast very much.

"Well," Katie said slowly. "I just got a lovely letter from Dad."

"Oh really?" Charlie said with a grim smile. "Saying what?"

"Date's set," Katie said simply, looking at Charlie like she was waiting for her to say whether they should be smiling or worrying.

"Oh," Charlie said breathlessly, nodding her head slowly. "Right. Well. That's that, then. Isn't it?"

Katie shrugged. "That's what I thought. But what are we going to do about Carol?"

"What do you mean?" asked Charlie sharply, grabbing another slice of toast and halving it, handing the bigger half to Katie.

"Well, it's one thing to keep all this from Dad," she said, looking around with wonder at the Great Hall, at the ceiling, at the owls delivering post. "But if she's there twenty-four-seven, and we'll have to stay with them during holidays. It's another family, Charlie," she said meaningfully. "I have this weird feeling that it's not going to be as simple."

Charlie sighed. "I've been thinking the same thing," she said. "I mean, does he even want us to go?" she asked. "It was only a little while ago he was telling us to go stay at Mum's if we so obviously preferred to be there."

Katie looked at Charlie sadly. "Should we tell Mum?"

Charlie paused, and chewed on her lip. "I don't know. Last I heard from her, she was having a little trouble at work. And you know she won't take it well, they didn't really end that well . . . " Charlie mused aloud. 'Not ending well' was putting it mildly. Their father had had enough one day, and left, claiming he didn't love their mother anymore. He wanted the girls to come live with him, but since they went to a boarding school – as far as he knew – he seemed happy to share the holidays, in theory.

But in practice, the three girls were constantly the subject of a violent tug of war, and their favourite tactic was to guilt trip the girls into doing what they wanted. So when their father wrote and tell them that if they preferred staying at their mother's for Christmas, what he was really trying to do was secure them for the _next _Christmas. It was an old story, but it never ended.

In fact, in the last couple of months, she had only seen the tip of the iceberg.

"So . . . Don't tell her?" Katie said grimly.

"I suppose not," said Charlie, raking her fingers through her hair. "You know she won't take it well." Mum still cried sometimes over what had happened – it had been quite an acrimonious split, and nothing had changed, except that it seemed to be affecting their mother more and more as time went by.

And their dad getting married – Charlie suspected it would drive her right over the edge.

"At least he wishes us well," Katie said. "We _are _going, right?"

"Of course we are!" said Charlie. "As long as he's happy." And she supposed he was happy – as far as the rest of his life was concerned. But it was practically impossible to keep both their parents happy. They had entirely different ideas of what a good daughter was, and both of them constantly reminded her of that. And in fact – her siblings also had an entirely different idea of what a good sister was, and when she was pleasing one, the others found out, and weren't happy about it.

Charlie knew it was stupid to bear the weight of her family's problems on her shoulders – after all, her parents' problems were her parents' problems, and she should have pleasing herself before she tried to please her siblings – but that didn't stop her.

She rubbed at her cheek to wake herself up, shaking her head. "Right, well," Katie said briskly. "I better go. You're sure you're okay?" she asked as she stood.

"Of course," smiled Charlie, wishing she could shake things off like Katie could.

"Well, it's during Easter, we won't even miss school," Katie said cheerfully, waving to Charlie and Charlie's friends before she hurried to catch up to her own.

Charlie turned back to her friends just in time to see Talia slam her hands down on the table, making the plates rattle and some goblets topple over, before she leaped to her feet and stormed off. Charlie turned to Briony, who was red in the face.

"What –"

She cut herself off when Anna threw her a warning look. Charlie answered with a questioning expression, but Anna just shook her head. Charlie glanced at her watch, and sighed.

"I'd better go," she said quickly. "Callworth said he wanted to see me."

"About what?" asked Anna, resting her chin in her hand and looking around her boredly.

Charlie shrugged. "My grades. Two Ps and three Ds on our last tests doesn't scream thriving student."

"But you were getting Es," Anna said, shaking her head. "How could you possibly be failing?"

Charlie threw her hands up. "No idea," she said lightly. "Too much else going on."

Anna raised one eyebrow. "So sort your life out?" she suggested sardonically.

Charlie threw her a dark look as she stood up, snatching one last slice of toast. "If only I could," she replied, glancing discreetly up the table to where James Potter was sitting.

The walk to Professor Callworth's office seemed to take forever, and her steps bounced off the walls as she walked in the silence, everybody else enjoying their breakfast. And it felt like several days had passed when she was finally knocking on his door.

"Come in, Miss Alexander."

Charlie took a deep breath and slid inside, bracing herself for the worst.

"Miss Alexander, we have to talk about your grades," he said authoritatively. Charlie said nothing. "You were one of my brightest students at the start of the year. And frankly, I don't understand how someone could sink so low."

Charlie blinked, wondering was she imagining the condescension in his voice.

"So what happened?"

Charlie pulled a face. "I have no idea, sir," she muttered. "There's been a lot going on, I suppose."

"Which caused you to neglect your schoolwork?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"I suppose," she muttered. She had _enough _trouble with her family, and Quidditch, and stupid Potter. She didn't need _this. _Did he think she was doing this on purpose?

"Perhaps you would consider dropping the Quidditch team?" Callworth suggested.

Charlie pressed her lips together, feeling her heart stop and refuse to start again as protest. "I think James would kill me, sir," she said, trying not to smile. It was true, really.

Callworth let out a deep sigh. "If this keeps up, you will fail your OWL. You're capable of so much more. So you need to start trying."

"I _am _trying!" Charlie insisted. "I've just got so much to deal with at the moment . . ." she trailed off, biting her lip.

"Well, Miss Alexander, they are your results," he said eventually. "Just try to do yourself justice. Maybe whatever you're dealing with can wait. I can give you a make-up test after classes next week."

He dismissed her, and went back to correcting tests. Once she was outside the door, Charlie buried her face in her hands and took a few deep breaths, holding back her tears. She couldn't take much more of this. Why did everything have to happen at the same time?

Eventually, the corridors started to fill up and Charlie hurried to Defence Against the Dark Arts, relieved to find that Anna had saved her a seat.

She slumped into the desk. "Merlin, I'm glad it's Friday," she muttered, resting her head on the desk.

Anna looked at her sympathetically. "What did he say?"

"Told me I was going to fail if I didn't do something," she mumbled, feeling tears sting the back of her eyes again.

"You'll get it together," said Anna confidently. "You're just having a bad time, what with your family and all, and Potter refusing to leave you alone . . ."

Charlie sat up straight, frowning. "Actually, Anna," she mumbled, one finger tugging at her lip. "I meant to tell you about that."

"About what?" asked Anna quickly.

Charlie bit her lip, trying to stop the small smile spreading across her face. "I think he might . . . I mean, he _said –" _

"What, that he fancied you?" said Anna, forcing herself to laugh. Charlie frowned at her wide eyes.

"Well," she said slowly. She thought about the way he was staring at her, and no matter how often she thought about it, her heart had already decided that there was nothing but truth there. And she had meant it when she said she'd think about it – and he seemed to be patient, since she hadn't brought it up since he had said it last Saturday, and he seemed to be giving her enough time to really think it over.

"That's what he said," she told Anna, not really wanting to tell Anna what was really going through her head. She didn't know how much she could trust Anna with something like this. She knew Anna wouldn't like it – and she didn't want to admit how much _she _was growing to like it.

Anna was shaking her head. "And what are you doing about it?"

Charlie gulped. "Thinking, right now."

"Charlie, please don't be stupid," Anna pleaded, her face strangely pale.

"I won't," insisted Charlie, her throat closing oddly. She had caught a glimpse of honesty from him, she was sure of it. And her heart rate quickened whenever she thought about it. But she didn't tell that to Anna – she simply couldn't.

Sighing, she avoided Anna's keen stare and looked around the classroom, jerking up when she noticed the peculiarity.

"Why aren't Briony and Talia sitting together?"

Anna pressed her lip together. "They've had a fight."

"About what?" Charlie muttered.

Anna shook her head. "Well, Talia's been getting all upset with Briony, and Briony's getting really frustrated because she doesn't know why. Talia won't tell her what's going on."

Charlie nodded slowly.

"Do _you _know what's going on with Talia?" Anna asked, frowning.

Charlie stopped for a second, and then shook her head. That wasn't her place to tell – after all, Talia hadn't said anything to Anna about _her. _"No, not really," she said simply. She didn't say anything else, and Anna seemed to take the hint that Charlie needed to listen. It's not like she could afford to fail anything else.

XXX

Charlie was surprised it had taken that long for James to even speak to her. It was later that same day at lunch; Anna had gone looking for Briony, who had disappeared, so Talia and Charlie were eating lunch alone when he swung himself into the seat next to her. With all that was going on, she had had little time to think about what he'd said. Occasionally, she'd see him with Fred or another one of this friends, and instinctively she'd recoil.

Charlie glanced around the hall furtively, but he was too preoccupied with Talia, who froze and glanced between the two with wide eyes.

"Hi," Charlie said, still looking around for his friends - her mind's eye caught a glimpse of Fred sneering at her, though she couldn't locate him in the hall. She wished she had something wittier to say.

"Hi," he replied, and looked sort of pointedly at Talia. It clicked in Charlie's brain – but she had filled Talia in during the week. She hadn't given her any advice, just told her to do what she felt she wanted to.

"It's fine," Charlie said quickly. "Talia's quite a trustworthy person," she said with a smile, and pride swelled in her chest when she saw the beaming smile that Talia returned.

"Right, well –"

He was interrupted when Anna appeared out of nothing at Charlie's side and slammed her hands down at the table.

"You have _got _to see this," she said loudly, and then seemed to notice James glaring at her coldly. "What are you doing here, Potter?"

"What, am I offending you?" he said icily.

"You offend me just by existing," Anna retorted. Charlie and Talia glanced each other with wide eyes.

"Seriously, you have to come see this," Anna insisted. She literally tugged at Charlie's robes until Charlie conceded and climbed off the bench, stuffing her hands in her pockets and following Anna, Talia and James at her heels.

She let out a petrified, "Oh!" when she saw the scene unravelling in the Entrance Hall – Briony, her wand raised, and Dominique Weasley advancing on her. Briony deflected the spells Dominique was throwing at her when she wasn't roaring her head off.

"Blimey," muttered James from behind her. "That girl is such a drama queen."

"You stole him, you little –" She aimed another spell at Dominique; one of the second years went running for a teacher. And Briony retaliated; the spell missed Dominique by an inch and hit a wall, ricocheting towards them. They ducked their heads, Charlie grabbing onto James' wrist without even realizing it.

"Do something," Anna muttered, to no one in particular. Professor Callworth strode on to the scene, but Dominique was still firing curses at Briony, who was only barely keeping up. Talia muttered something under her breath and drew her own wand, and when one of the curses hit Briony squarely, things seem to become a lot more serious. Anna swore and James slipped his hand into Charlie's when she gasped out loud, and Talia was screaming, and there were spells hitting the walls, making the people in the portraits yell and abandon their frames.

Anna folded her arms. "Been a long time since there's been a brawl over a boy," she muttered to Charlie, who yanked her hand away quickly. "And over Malcolm Douglas of all people? Very interesting, don't you think?" she smirked.

James threw her a scathing look before he pushed past her to take Dominique by the shoulders and snatch her wand away from her.

"What did he want?" Anna muttered once he was out of earshot.

Charlie didn't miss a beat. "Homework," she replied, her eyes still fixed on the scene; Talia trying to calm Briony down, and James struggling to restrain Dominique.

Anna frowned at her. "He wants your homework now?" she said skeptically, raising one eyebrow.

Charlie stared into space, racking her brains. "Not exactly," she said diplomatically. She still hadn't quite figured out that James was acting so completely differently. And she didn't have a clue how to explain how she just seemed to know that how he was acting now was really him just being himself.

"Talia's looks oddly upset, doesn't she?" Anna prodded.

"So does Dominique," replied Charlie, avoiding the subject of Talia. "Blimey, can a boy really mean that much to her?"

Anna snorted. "You're one to talk," she said under her breath, before she folded her arms again and sauntered in the other direction.

XXX

"Hi, Charlie! You busy?"

"Just a little, Andrew," Charlie said lightly, trying not to let on that she was getting annoyed. She wasn't looking where she was going, rummaging in her bag as she headed down from the Astronomy Tower. She was exhausted – classes had run ten or fifteen minutes late from the commotion Briony and Dominique had started, so they were late finishing, and she still had her makeup test to do.

"Well, I was wondering if you'd –"

"If you ask me if I've been thinking about us again, I swear, Andrew," she said, stopping in the hallway so that some fourth year Slytherins bumped right into her.

"Well, they're letting us go to Hogsmeade this weekend and I –"

"I can't," she said emphatically. "I've too much to do."

Andrew stopped, folding his arms across his chest. "You can't do this all the time, Charlie," he said pointedly, as Charlie located her Potions book and dragged it out of her bag. "You _did _kiss me."

"I what?!" exclaimed Charlie, dropping her book. It landed with a booming thud; people looked around in surprise and Charlie blushed. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say '_it's the truth'_. "You kissed me!" she hissed, poking his chest. "Not the other way around. And don't act like I don't know you only did it because you knew James would see!"

She clamped her hand over her mouth and sighed shakily.

Realization dawned across Andrew's face, and he looked at her like she had insulted his family or something. "Charlie, what do you even see in him anyway?"

Charlie opened her mouth to say something – but bit her lip instead, so hard that she tasted blood. What _did _she see in him? She crouched and snatched up her book and started walking again, quickening her pace, but Andrew was right behind her.

"Come on, Charlie, answer the question."

She knew exactly what she saw in him. She saw someone who had entertained himself at the expense of other's feelings for years, and included her in that. And deep down, she knew she was still a little scared of him. But she wasn't scared that he would say something hurtful - she was simply scared that he would switch off again, that she wouldn't _see _what she could see now.

She saw someone honest and human, she saw something in his eyes that was entirely different from the persona he offered the entire world. She could see someone who was so used to being so together, and had found himself lost – but was beginning to find himself, only discovering himself now.

But she could see the fear in his eyes, he was so scared of what people would think if he started acting different, if he started acting like _himself. _And though he'd most likely deny it if she said it, she saw someone interminably _good_, she saw what he was trying so hard to hide.

And just as Andrew let out a derisive, pointed huff, Charlie realized – she saw someone she really wanted and cared for desperately.

"Well?" Andrew asked, following her into the classroom. She smiled, throwing her books down on the nearest table and scanning the classroom for James. He sat not far away, and she bit back her smile.

"Sorry, Andrew, what were you saying?" she said lightly, glancing up at him.

"What _do _you see in him?" he repeated, a little too loudly. "He's a prat. You of all people should know that."

Charlie raised one eyebrow; Andrew looked at her coldly; James whipped around in his chair.

Charlie knew that Andrew's words made sense. Of course they made sense. How could she possibly see anything in the one person who had strived to make everyone's life a misery so that he could place himself at the top? But her annoyance seemed to overwhelm her logic, so she smiled placidly at Andrew, and said in a perfectly clear voice that would have met a pair of straining ears if they tried hard enough: "Andrew, I really wouldn't expect you to understand."

His jaw dropped and sat down, just catching James' eye for a fraction of a second, the ghost of a smile on her face when she saw him staring, a look of clear understanding on his face. Maybe she'd made up her mind.

Anna forced her way to the same worktable as Charlie once class had started, but she wasn't watching their Forgetfulness Potion. Instead, she was staring at Charlie with wide eyes.

"Charlie, say it isn't so," she said, taking advantage of the loud hiss that emitted from the cauldron when she added the Valerian Sprigs.

"What are you talking about?" said Charlie lightly, making a show of being very focused on stirring the potion.

Anna glared at her once, as she leaned against the table while they waited for the potion to simmer. "Potter," she said simply. "You _can't, _Charlie. You just can't."

And Charlie didn't dare pretend, because there wasn't any point pretending. "Why?" she said quietly.

Anna circled the table to grip Charlie by the shoulders and shake her frustratedly. "Don't you remember everything he's done?" she hissed. Charlie paused for a minute, taking in Anna's imploring look. And she was so right, her point was unavoidable. Charlie gave in, biting her lip to stop it from trembling.

"You're right," she croaked, closing her eyes and feeling Anna's sigh of relief unsettle her hair. "You're absolutely right."

"So you'll stop acting crazy?" Anna said bracingly, her grip tightening on Charlie's shoulders. And after a moment's hesitation, Charlie nodded, and Anna smiled at her. She willed herself not to look in his direction, concentrating excessively on adding the mistletoe berries, though she felt numb. She let Anna handle the rest of the potion - she knew Anna was right. Then why did she feel sick all of a sudden? Why was every inch of her screaming to tell Anna to mind her own business?

XXX

Her official, formal wedding invitation came a few days later. After all the trouble it had caused, Charlie was surprised by little she was moved by this. Katie was over the moon with relief and joy, delighted to have been invited and for Peter not to hate her. But Charlie - Charlie was sort of flat about it. Of course, she was happy that her father was happy, even if it _was _causing her some hardship, and she was looking forward to going. But she didn't feel overwhelmingly emotional by any means.

There were far more pressing things in her head now - by name, her Transfiguration grade and how she was ever going to get two minutes alone with James Potter.

Charlie didn't know if Anna could sense something, or if she had seen Charlie glancing his way at dinner in the eveningtime, but Charlie didn't consider it any coincidence whatsoever that Anna was employing her best efforts to keep Charlie occupied. She frogmarched her to class, telling her some long-winded story, keeping a firm hold on her so that Charlie couldn't wander away. She kept up a steady flow of conversation about anything under the sun from dawn until dusk.

After dinner each night, she would insist on just one more game of Exploding Snap or Reusable Hangman, or she would engross herself in her homework and drag a reluctant Charlie with her, until Charlie was convinced that it was too contrived for Anna not to have thought that Charlie was wavering.

And it was getting on Charlie's nerves, because she still had to _talk _to James, she couldn't just ignore him. And she _wanted _to talk to him, no matter which way the conversation went. Because who really knew what way it would go? So much thinking - she was beginning to get fed up with just thinking. She didn't want to think anymore.

Anna's words gnawed at her stomach, and she couldn't ignore them, no matter how much she wanted to. But there was still a little voice in the back of her head that swore that Anna was wrong, that voiced doubts and insisted she give this a chance.

All that aside, Charlie was beginning to think that she would never get a chance to talk to James, until Anna had been held back in class in Herbology to discuss her giving cheek to a teacher, and Charlie was given a brief moment of solitude. She was late for her make-up test - Anna had joked all day, "Why would you take it today? Friday the thirteenth, you'll fail even worse than usual!" - when he plucked her out of the crowd and pulled her down a deserted corridor.

"Avoiding me?" he asked her coolly, dropping her wrist.

Charlie took a breath to steady herself and narrowing her eyes, wondering vaguely whether he could hear her heart. "Possibly," she replied, in an equally cool tone.

"Well, it didn't work," he told her briskly. "I wanted to talk to you."

Charlie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Give it a rest, I'm not really in the mood right now, James," she said, a little flustered.

James paused. "I reckon that's the first time a girl's ever said that to me," he said slowly. Charlie scowled at him for a second, before she aimed a swing at him with her bag.

"Don't - be - such - a - prat!" she said, abandoning her bag and pummeling him with each word.

"Alright, woman, alright!" James yelled, grabbing hold of her wrists. "Kindly stop hitting me."

Charlie went limp, a blush creeping up her cheeks. She wasn't one for standing around hitting people with her bags in the corridor - what was he _doing_to her?

"I thought we could go somewhere private to talk," he told her, shaking his head at her like he thought she was crazy. She was. She had decided to listen to Anna, and there she was, talking to him in the corridor with no one else around, her heart racing and every inch of her tingling.

"Like where?" Charlie said dryly.

"Hogsmeade," he said simply, eyeing her.

"Right," said Charlie, rolling her eyes, though she couldn't pretend she wasn't considering it. "When's the next date?"

James grinned. "I was thinking . . . right now?" he muttered, shrugging his shoulders.

"N-now?" Charlie stammered, gaping at him.

He grinned at her, looking entirely at ease, smoothly muttering, "Now."

* * *

Thanks for reading, please review! Thoughts are always appreciated, of course. Actually, I would be very interested in what you think is about to happen next!


	26. One Night

I don't own Harry Potter unfortunately. I'm gonna give the usual warnings, but there's not that much in here. Okay, I'm done. Happy reading!

* * *

**One Night**

James raised his eyebrows at her, trying not to smile at the way she bit her lip and looked around her, as if she was looking for a sign of what to do. The last two weeks had been some of the worst he'd ever spent, all the time wondering. And here she was, looking up at him like a little lost puppy.

"Look," she said, narrowing her eyes at him with uncertainty. "If you're trying to get me in trouble or something," she said dubiously, raising her eyebrows. "I'm not up for it."

James grinned. "I'm not. I promise, no trouble. I've gotten pretty good at not getting caught. And it's only trouble if you don't get caught."

"Sounds like trouble to me, Potter," Charlie mumbled , though she couldn't help but return his grin.

He shook his head resolutely. "Don't you trust me?" he said jokingly.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Charlie replied hoarsely, but there was an apologetic smile in her eyes. But she was right - what reason did she have to trust him, after all?

"No," he said truthfully. "That's okay."

A smirk tugged on the corner of her mouth, and she folded her arms. "Alright then," she said tentatively, still sounded half unsure. James grinned at how her eyes widened when he dragged his father's Cloak out of his bag. "Not a word about this, Alexander," he warned. "This could get me in a lot of trouble. And I mean a lot."

"My lips are sealed," she muttered sarcastically.

James grinned. "We'd better get going then."

The passage was long and dark, and after a second, Charlie shook her arm out of his grip and took him by the hand, feeling a chill ripple up her skin. "I - I thought all the passages out of Hogwarts were boarded up," Charlie mused, feeling her fear seep into her voice. James grinned at her over his shoulder and shrugged.

"They were," he said coolly. "Fred and I handled it. Would you relax?" he added. "The first time we came through here, we thought we were never getting out alive." He meant it as a joke to relax her, but her hand tightened in his, and with a small smile he returned the pressure. "It's longer than you expect."

"And that's meant to reassure me how?" came her quivering reply.

"Well," James muttered, ducking his head even lower as the passage took a downward turn. "We _did _get out alive, didn't we?"

"It would appear so," Charlie muttered.

"Wishing we hadn't?" he asked jokingly, though there was a small idea nagging at him that he could have been right.

"Maybe," she scoffed. "Although, I'd miss Max," she added thoughtfully.

"Hey," he said reproachfully, glancing over his shoulder again so that he tripped over his own feet. "You'd miss me, don't deny it."

Charlie smiled. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Potter," she said quietly, sniggering at him.

James shrugged his shoulders, but he didn't turn around this time, his cheeks still burning. "Maybe it does," he said lightly. He heard her sniff, and he stopped and turned around, pulling her hand so that she bumped right into him. "C'mon, Alexander, you know you would." In the dim light of the corridor by only their two wands, he saw her pull a face. He stared down at her for a minute, waiting for her to say something. He wanted her to at least lie if she didn't think she would.

"What's to miss?" Charlie said jokingly, her voice airy as she took a small step back from him. "You seem pretty hellbent on making things harder for me."

He frowned down at her, but when he replied, he matched his tone to hers. "Hey, that's not all I do," he said defensively. "I eat and sleep as well."

"See?" said Charlie, aiming a dig at his shoulder, which he avoided. "You're such a prat, what _do _I see in you?" she said, scowling.

"I don't know," James muttered lowly, truthfully. "You tell me."

She was shaking her head. "Can we just hurry up? I'm freezing."

James inclined his head and pulled her along. "We're nearly there," he told her reassuringly, when he could see that she was, in fact, shivering. Once he had finally reached it the end, he climbed out and turned to offer her a hand up. "Don't get mad, alright?"

Charlie came to an abrupt halt, and after a second waved his hand away, pulling herself out. "Why would I get mad?"

"Well," he said slowly. "We're in Honeydukes cellar. So I suppose technically we're breaking in," he told her, bracing himself visibly for her reaction. He watched her gaze all around her - he had come down this route so many times, it didn't seem all too intriguing anymore.

If he expected her to explode, he was wrong. She blew out a strip of air and shook her head. "Definitely trouble," she muttered.

"Not unless we get caught," James reminded her, winking. Charlie let out a weak little whimper, as if she had not found his words entirely encouraging.

"So where to now?" she said feebly.

"Wherever you like," he shrugged, ruffling his hair. "We could get a Firewhiskey, unless the ickle prefect is too prim and proper for that."

"No, she's not," Charlie replied coolly.. "Whenever you're ready," she added sarcastically. James grinned, feeling like his entire day was wholly disjointed from his life, like he had strayed into some dream that was remarkably lifelike, but something that couldn't possibly be true. And yet here she was.

His head was still spinning slightly when they reached the Three Broomsticks, which was crowded enough for no one to care that they were obviously students, still in their uniforms and sporting their schoolbags, but not too crowded that he couldn't hear himself think.

Charlie slid into a booth in front of him, gazing around her with a mortified expression. "I feel like everyone's staring at us," she said in a hushed voice.

"Why?" said James as he sat down next to her, glancing around to see what she was talking about.

"Well, I'm in my skirt," she muttered. "And we're supposed to be at school, and - Oh!" She gasped aloud and clamped a hand over her mouth, making James jump beside her.

"What's the matter?" he said, half-laughing nervously.

He watched her bury her face in her arms, groaning. "I was meant to be taking a makeup test," she told him, her face a picture of anguish. "Callworth is going to kill me. I saw you and forgot all about it!"

James raised his eyebrows; her words had sent a spurt of warmth through him, and he looked at her quizzically. "Why on earth would you have a makeup test?"

Charlie opened her mouth and closed it again, turning back to him with a tortured expression. "I'm sort of failing," she admitted, tilting her head.

James gaped, and after a second it seemed to click that her bitter expression was not put on. "How on earth could you be failing?"

Charlie sighed, shaking her head as she rested her chin in her hand and looked around the pub with casual interest. "I've just - I've got so much going on right now."

"What, your secret life as a Muggle?" he joked, thinking immediately of her father and that whole other side of her life that he knew so little about.

"Funny," she remarked dryly.

"Alright, alright," James said, grinning. "Seriously."

"Seriously," Charlie started, shaking her head again. "I've just got a lot going on. Dad's getting married, and we're still working out how to tell him we're all witches, isn't that incredible?" she said, more to herself than to him. "And I have to go take a make-up test after this class, and he told me I'd fail my OWL, and Andrew's acting crazy," she explained. "And then there's you . . ."

James grimaced at her. "I guess I'm not helping with any of that."

"No," Charlie agreed, with a grim smile. "You're not."

"You know," remarked James, feeling his fingers begin to itch again. "I really don't like Wood."

Charlie raised her eyebrows at him. "Why is that?" she asked. "I know he's annoying sometimes but -"

"Why do you think, Charlie?" he cut across her. "Don't you see the way he _leers _at you? You'd swear he owned you or something, it's disgusting." James shook his head, feeling sick, turning away from a gust of wind that swept through them when the pub door opened. "And he . . . " He couldn't help but think of it. Maybe she didn't see it like James did, the look on Andrew's face when he kissed her.

But whatever was written on James' face, she caught on pretty quick, laying a hand on his arm. "That's - that's nothing," she said quickly. James was just about to reply when a sour-faced waitress passed by them, and James hurriedly ordered two Firewhiskeys. Charlie was biting her lip when he turned back around.

"Nothing, is it?" he said hoarsely.

"Of course it's nothing," she replied. "I don't even know what happened, one minute . . ." She trailed off and pressed her lips together.

"I can't stand that ruddy idiot," James muttered, digging his fingernails into the soft wood of the table to distract himself.

Charlie cleared her throat. "That's not because of me, is it?"

"Of course it is," James snapped, staring at her, and he was suddenly so irrationally angry that he was shaking. "And he acts like - " he cut himself off, clenching his hands into fists to stop them trembling. Charlie froze, alarmed at the sudden change in him.

"Hey," she muttered, and her hand was at his cheek to get his attention, and he jumped the feel of her hand. "You don't - Don't worry about Andrew," she muttered, and though he wouldn't admit it, he hated the sound of Wood's name on her lips, and he had to repress his shudder.

"I would beat him to a pulp if I got the chance," James said darkly. "Forget bloody magic."

Charlie frowned. "Come on, there's no need for that," she said softly. Her hand slipped away as the waitress arrived back with their drinks. He straightened and cleared his throat awkwardly as the waitress slumped away.

"I've never had a Firewhiskey before," Charlie remarked, and James wondered how much she felt she needed to overcompensate for the change in the atmosphere.

So James snorted and shook his head. "Just try it," he said quietly, meeting her eye with a wry smile. He could feel her eyes on him. And after a second, she leaned across and placed a kiss on his cheek, and before he thought he turned his head and his lips caught hers.

Her hand slipped to the place at his neck where his pulse was thudding, but when she pulled away, her expression was bleak.

When he spoke, James was surprised to hear how cracked his voice sounded. "So have you thought about it, then?" he asked, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He avoided her gaze, his face reddening, feeling more idiotic by the second.

She let out a shaky sigh. "I have," she said slowly, her head tilted away like she was holding back from him.

"Oh," James breathed, looking unseeingly at the surface of his drink, and he swallowed a lump in his throat with some difficulty.

"It's not like that, James," she said feverishly. The sound of his name on her lips was strangely delightful, and it produced such a remarkable effect on him, a jolt of electricity running through him, something so entirely different to what he'd felt hearing her talking about Wood. And perhaps it was his imagination, or he simply wanted desperately wanted to believe himself - but he thought there was something different in the way she said his name, a different inflection in his tone, something more there.

Her hands clutched his arms, begging him silently to look at her. "I just don't know what to do."

James couldn't stem the twinge of annoyance he felt at that - he'd spent the last two torturous weeks giving her time and space while he went out of his mind. And that was all she had to say?

"Right," he muttered.

"Anna thinks I'm crazy," Charlie remarked, stirring her drink absently.

"And what do _you _think?" James prompted, sneering at the mention of Anna Goldstein, who had made him shudder in disgust at the very mention of her lately She was so brash and brazen, dominating, and James didn't understand how they could be best friends when they were so different. Charlie was quiet and soft-spoken and pensive; she thought clearly over everything and could read him easily and anyone else around, and she cared more than he thought possible.

Whereas Anna didn't know how to think before she spoke; she was vile and direct and blunt; she judged on the spot and barely wasted her time thinking about anything. She was so loudmouthed, and how she spoke was harsh and unattractive. How could anyone like Charlie with such grace and gentleness put up with someone who was so insufferable?

Charlie stared at a loss around the pub as if it held the answer. "I don't know," she said eventually, in a thick voice.

James nodded. Figures. "It's about what you think," he said deliberately.

Charlie looked at him for a moment, and James felt the familiar impression that she was reading his mind. And then she slid her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. "How did this even happen?" she mumbled.

"I don't know," James said, his hands finding her waist. "I should've known - the day in the forest, d'you remember?" She looked up at him and nodded, and there was a voice that sounded oddly like Fred's in his head that was warning him to stop talking. But he didn't. "I knew there was more to you than I'd thought. And then, I took the fall," he muttered, and the pair of them let out a small, fond chuckle at the memory. "I should have known then. I would have done anything you asked me to. I still would," he said in earnest, pulling her towards him like she was the drug sustaining him. "I swear."

"I _know,_" said Charlie soothingly, sensing his panic. "But your friends make life hell for me, like _you _did," she pointed out. "And I just can't handle them, I won't do that to myself."

"I'll deal with them," he said quickly. "I will." He felt like she was slipping through his fingers, and he felt a surge of rage, at his friends, at himself, for making this so complicated. He had done as much, treated her no differently to how Fred did. But whatever had changed, he didn't know what he could say to make her see that he wasn't about to let his _friends _ruin this.

"Please, don't let _them _make up your mind for you," he murmured pleadingly. He thought of Max, and echoed his words back to her. "What would you do if they didn't exist?"

With a small, sad smile, Charlie reached up to brush his hair back. "But they _do _exist," she said gently. "And I don't think we can . . ."

The moment she broke his gaze, his strength and patience evaporated; taking her by the shoulders, he kissed her softly and scanned her face.

"Tell me you don't' feel that," he said, more roughly than he'd intended. "That's not just a kiss, Charlie, I _feel _something. It means something." Her eyes were wide. "And you must feel it," he said slowly. "You've got to."

Charlie pressed her lips tightly together, her eyes flickering over his face. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I don't even know how I treated you the way I did. I really hate myself for it."

Charlie looked into her lap. "What does it matter?" she said glumly. "I don't know who you are, James. We go back up to the school, and you put your mask back on. And I _like _this boy," she said, her hands on his shoulders. "I do. Not how you act when anybody else is around. I like who's right in front of me."

James took a swig of his drink while he processed what she was saying. "Don't do that," he groaned. "Don't come along and tell me you can see right through me that easily. You can't just ..." he trailed off, realizing what he had been about to say. He looked the other way, feeling his cheeks go red.

Charlie finished her drink, shaking her head. "James, you know what, Anna was right. This is just too much."

"What's too much?" James yelped, even as she gently pushed him out of his seat so she could slide out.

"All this," she muttered. "I just . . . I can't."

James blinked at her, his breathing rapid and shallow. The world would have come tumbling down and he wouldn't have noticed. "Can't you just - just wait - for _one second?_" he said frantically, wondering how on earth things had gone so horribly wrong in the space of a second. _  
_

"_Please," _she begged. "Can we just go back?" James looked up at her, at her anguished expression. And he threw his hands up in defeat, sighing.

"Fine," he muttered. "Let's go." He didn't dare take her hand again; in fact, he said very little to her as they headed back down the village and into Honeydukes, with some difficulty. It still felt like the entire night had been sliced out of somebody's life, so entirely disjointed and different from the rest of his world.

It felt so surreal, crawling back through the passage - it had seemed so much shorter the other way. And he didn't know if he was imagining it, but it was darker there, and colder. The moment they got back, Charlie turned to him with a tortured expression, her mouth poised open like there was something she wanted to say.

But when she didn't, James gave her a small nod, as if acknowledging that they had both run out of things to say. Maybe they had.

XXX

He hadn't even finished his drink, but the next day James had a pounding headache, and he felt like he hadn't slept in days. Training had gone terrible, as it had thundered rain and he could hardly see where he was going, and apart from that he could hardly concentrate. He retreated to the common room for the evening, feeling the dark and the cold clinging to his skin more than usual, and he and Al were engaged in a violent, long-winded game of chess.

"Don't you have some trouble to cause?" Albus grumbled, as James' rook sliced through his knight.

"Not quite yet," said James. "C'mon let's finish this," he said gruffly, slightly muffled through the Chocolate Frog that was dangling out his mouth. He was flat out on his stomach in front of the fire and was dominating their entire game, while Albus changed his strategy again and again, and Lily almost turned herself purple focusing so hard on Transfiguring a matchstick.

"Alright," Albus said lightly. "I still think you're cheating."

"I'm not," replied James with a grin. "I'm just a lot better than you, squirt, you should be used to it."

Albus rolled his eyes, directing one of his pawns forward. James gave a piece a little prod when it was reluctant to move, while Lily watched on.

"Don't you have OWLs to study for?" Al said pointedly after a few moves.

"You just don't want to lose," James said. Al glared.

"I'm not going to lose," Al retorted hotly.

James rolled his eyes, and though he tried not to, he glanced towards the portrait hole when she came through, and he was pleased to see that she seemed to be arguing with Wood in a hushed voice. "Look, let's just finish it," he muttered distractedly, after staring for a few seconds. He looked down at the board, unsure of what Albus had moved.

"You alright?" asked Al uncertainly, looking at his older brother as if he felt like they should be checking James for a temperature or something.

"Fine, why?" James said quickly. He glanced around at Lily, who had her eyebrows raised.

"Check," said Albus in reply, and James' jaw dropped.

"You little - " James swore profusely and shoved a piece forward, ignoring its protestations.

"Yeah, you're not as great as you think," said Al coolly, reminding James oddly of himself. There may have been a little mischief in him yet, if James could coax it out of him.

"That's hardly fair," replied James. "I'm off my game."

"Why?" asked Al, his eyes glinting.

"He's lovesick, don't you remember?" Lily joked, laughing down at the two boys.

And when James scowled, a look of dawning realization crossed Al's face. "Oh, the ladies-man extraordinaire is having some trouble?"

James looked up at Albus slowly, the grin sliding from his face. "Just a little bit," he admitted dryly, making Albus sigh and Lily giggle. James even managed a small crooked smile at their expressions, and he shook his head and turned his attention back to the board just in time to see Al grin proudly at him.

He glanced over at Charlie, and considered going over there. But it was nice to not have to worry, to just have a friendly match with his brother and be able to tell his sister what she needed to do to make her spell work. She seemed to like the boy who cared. It was like a magic in itself.

"Checkmate."

"_What?" _

XXX

Sunday was a strange sort of day. Quite uncharacteristically, he took his books outside and found a quiet spot in the grounds, hoping that the voice in his head would stop blaming him for everything. There was something accusing in the silence, like it blamed him too, but still he endured it, he forced himself to, as if he felt that he deserved it.

But the silence, however it made him feel, was short-lived. "Hello, Potter." Anna's tone was friendly and conversational, which made James narrow his eyes at her suspiciously as her gaze raked over the book open on his lap, her eyebrows raised. After a second, he rolled his eyes and looked away from her.

"Go away," he said heavily.

"Not very friendly," she remarked with a grin, sitting down beside him against the stone wall. "Why?"

James clenched his teeth. "Because I don't want to talk to you," he told her bluntly.

"Something better in mind?" smirked Anna, as she leaned her elbow against the wall so she could turn her torso towards him, and drew a packet of cigarettes from her pocket.

"Shut it, Goldstein," James snapped, resting his head against t he wall, feeling the cold stone seep through his shirt.

Anna smiled at him, flicking her tongue across her teeth. "Want one?" she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Where'd you get those?" he said dryly. They didn't exactly sell cigarettes in wizarding shops.

She shrugged. "I've got connections."

"Anna, did you want something?" he said quickly, with a blandly unimpressed expression.

Her face darkened. "What's wrong?" she said delicately, a small knowing smile poised on her lips. "Didn't enjoy yourself?" she muttered, in a low, mocking voice. And James shuddered, thinking in spite of himself how different she was to Charlie, how he would have given anything for it to have been Charlie who found him hiding out in a less crowded part of the grounds.

"As a matter of fact, no," he told her through gritted teeth. "You're a terrible shag."

"Excuse me?" Anna retorted, and James was glad to hear the outrage in her voice. She blushed, and tried to recompose herself.

"I never wanted you anyway," James sneered. But she didn't frown or shout at that. Her face relaxed.

"Ah," she said. "Well, what _do _you want?" she asked, and he didn't know if he was imagining her smug tone. "You want Charlie," she said mockingly, sounding like she was barely holding back her laughter. James didn't reply. Anna snorted as she inched a little closer to him. "You know," she murmured. "Charlie's a good girl. You're going to have to go easy on her, if she even gives you what you want. And I really doubt it."

"D'you really think it's about that?" James snapped, before he could stop himself.

"And what's it about, James?" Anna said, in a pretend baby voice. "Your feelings?"

James bit his tongue, staring blankly into space.

Anna let out a cackle. "Oh please," she said, laying her hand on his arm patronizingly. "A shag is one thing, but please don't act like you care. It doesn't suit you. She'll only get hurt."

"And that would bother you?" said James sardonically.

Anna smiled, making him recoil. "Of course," she said, in a dangerously sweet voice. "You don't know what you're doing to her, and I don't either Especially after your little escapade last night."

James willed himself not to react. "I still fail to see how this affects you," he said coolly.

"Well, she's my best friend!" retorted Anna hotly.

"Oh really?" said James vitriolically. "And do you always shag the bloke your best friend fancies?"

"She fancies you, does she?" Anna jeered. When he looked away bitterly, she snorted again. "Blimey, Potter. What happened to you? Tell me you haven't fallen for her or something."

He forced himself not to react. Anna let out another cackle. "Who knew you could be so sentimental, Potter?"

"So what if I have anyway?" James spat, his fingers jerking towards his wand.

"Well, that's very sweet," Anna said dryly. "And you know, I'm fairly certain she feels the same way." James couldn't resist looking at her; her tone was light, but her smile was oddly vindictive. "At least, until I tell her that _we _shagged. Because it takes two to tango, _James." _

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart almost tripping over itself in its haste. "Don't tell her. Please Anna."

Anna paused, shaking her head. "I thought _she _had it bad, what has she done to you?"

James sighed and covered his face with his hands. He couldn't get the look on her face out of his head, the way she was looking at him, so despaired. "I don't know. But I'm begging, don't tell her."

He stared at her, ad she stared right back at him coldly. "James Potter. Begging."

"And?" When she smiled he could feel her lips on his skin, and her fingers tangling in his hair. And he shivered with disgust, trying to banish the image away, to shake the heavy unyielding feeling of complete _wrongness, _his whole body rejecting the memory.

"It's her birthday, did you know that?" Anna asked abruptly. James nodded, wishing he could say he didn't.

Anna sniffed. "You must really like her," she said quietly. James shrugged his shoulders. "Does this mean we can't do it again?" she muttered monotonously. James shook his head, feeling her eyes on him. He didn't know why she was asking - he was quite sure that she didn't feel anything. "Definitely not."

She looked at him curiously. "You're either a great actor, or you really feel something," she said. James said nothing; he was barely listening. All he could hear was the hammering of his own heart. "Fine," Anna said briskly. "I'll keep my mouth shut. For now," she added threateningly. "So don't piss me off, or my tongue might just slip."

James took a deep breath, glancing up at her and nodding. Anna pushed herself up and shook her head bemusedly. "Good luck, lover boy, you'll probably screw it up without my help anyway."

James managed a crooked smile. "But just do something," Anna added, before she sauntered away. James took a second to gather his thoughts, the full weight of her words bearing down on his shoulders. But there was something in the way she had talked that had made up his mind for him.

* * *

It's so hard to write all those scenes. You see it in your head, but it sounds so stupid written down. And it took up way too much of the chapter, sorry about that! And yes, I know I'm screwing everyone over, but to make up for this dreadful chapter I'm going to update super quick, and I'm thinking that most people will be slightly more satisfied with the next update. Slightly.

Anyway, thanks for reading, anything you've got to say is welcome!


	27. For Things To Go Right

I don't own this. But here, have a little happiness. While it lasts. Okay, happy reading!

* * *

**For Things To Go Right**

She was crying again. Well, not crying really. But there were tears in her eyes as she raked her hands over the beautifully bound books her father had sent her; some were the ones he used to read her when she was small. Some were books that he knew she would love. And she felt a terrible ache, and missed her father so terribly, especially on that day. In fact, it was hard to not look forward to his wedding, which had been scheduled during the holidays' for the girls' convenience.

It was quite late on Sunday evening, and Charlie was writing a letter to her mother, as she had been for the last two hours. The small birthday surprise that her friends had thrown for her in the common room was still evidence - bits of ribbon and wrapping paper strewn across the floor, a small few crumbs of cake left on the coffee table.

But things hadn't exactly been perfect. Briony and Talia still weren't talking to each other, so Charlie had been strategically placed in the middle. Briony stalked off after a while, unable to tolerate Talia, and Talia stared vaguely after her. They were joined by Hannah, the other girl in their dorm who preferred to befriend the Ravenclaws. That wasn't to say that any of them had a problem with her, or her with them, and they gladly included her.

And she felt she was doing remarkably well - she'd only glanced across the room to catch James' eye once (Anna had given her an almighty shove when she did, which certainly did put her off trying it again).

But things had quietened down, and Charlie and Talia were joined at their favourite rickety table by Hannah, who was surprisingly cheerful, as she was normally slightly subdued. Briony and Anna were now sitting with some sixth years, their shrieking laughter deliberately loud so that it would carry across the room to them.

But Anna had her own little way of letting Charlie know that she was just keeping Briony company - they were communicating by little notes that flew like birds from table to table, subtly. Anna was once again admonishing her for one thing or another, and had just moved on to her new favourite hobby - inquisition. Or rather, inquisition, followed by talking Charlie out of everything. Today's topic: Potter.

She seemed to change her mind rapidly, between telling her to figure it out and telling her to ignore it all until it went away, to asking her what she was going to do about it and then telling her she wasn't allowed do anything.

_You better ignore him, Charlie, I mean it _came the latest reply, still smudged from Anna's hasty scrawling. Charlie frowned down at it - the last note had said that there was something quite different about Potter. She constantly worried about Anna - but this seemed like a different sort of insane, even for her.

Talia had stopped talking abruptly, and Charlie glanced up. When she noticed what Talia's eyes were trained to, she looked at Talia beseechingly.

"Can't you -"

"No," Talia snapped, making Hannah pull a face as if to say she'd better not get involved.

"Maybe if you just _talked _to her -"

"You're one to talk," Talia scoffed. "How's Potter."

Hannah glanced up in surprise, and Charlie recalled with a small pang in her chest that she and him had had a thing on-and-off last year. She didn't say anything though, and Charlie was too preoccupied with Talia to address it.

"Fine," she retorted forcefully.

"Oh please," said Talia. "You're so besotted, you don't know what to do."

"I don't!" Charlie replied hotly, feeling her face glow red. She supposed she understood, but it still didn't justify Talia's behaviour - she was usually so soft and gently spoken, even bordering on vague. Charlie had never seen her so vindictive, and she wasn't going to say that it didn't hurt.

"You do," Talia insisted, in that same malicious tone. "Look at him and tell me you don't." Almost of their own accord, Charlie's eyes flickered to him and she huffed.

"Honestly, Talia, I sw-"

"Yeah, I'm not the only one too stubborn to fix things," Talia remarked. "Maybe you should practise what you preach."

With that, she snatched up her things and walked away, leaving Charlie stunned.

"What's wrong with _her?" _asked Hannah, staring perplexedly at Talia's retreating back.

Charlie sighed. "She's having a little trouble with Briony and . . . You know, the usual love stuff."

Hannah raised her eyebrows. "Sounds like she's not the only one."

Charlie bit her lip. "It's not really the same thing," she said, her voice oddly thick.

And Hannah let out a light, easy laugh. "Relax, Charlie. I'm well over that. I know how you feel though," Hannah muttered.

"How I feel?" Charlie repeated, frowning.

Hannah nodded sagely. "Yeah, I remember how I felt when I figured it out. He's just sort of . . . different." Charlie kept her face very still, willing herself not to react. She didn't want to hear this, the truth written so plainly for her that she couldn't avoid it. Her breathing was oddly shallow, and it was awkward to be sitting there listening to Hannah talk about it so nonchalantly, sort of nostalgically.

"I suppose it's hardly a surprise half the castle has a crush on him," she said lightly, but even just barely, Charlie could make out what those words were intended to do. They were meant to intimidate her, and she knew then that Hannah wasn't as carefree and offhanded as she cared to act. But the odd thing was - how little any of what she'd said was bothering Charlie. "Just don't let his fan club get to you," she added, grinning. "Although if you'd like to join, I hear they meet on Wednesdays."

Charlie laughed, seeing no reason to take anything to heart, and Hannah bounced to her feet. "Well, happy birthday, Charlie."

Charlie sighed and returned to the letter, but her thoughts travelled so far away from what she was trying to tell her mother, she was getting nowhere. She was still at it in the time it had taken Anna to storm out of the common room in a fit, and trudge back in an hour later.

Charlie gathered up her birthday cards as Anna slumped back into the common room, looking as if she couldn't remember where she'd been. "Where did you disappear to?" Charlie asked, raising her eyebrows.

Anna looked at her vaguely, her eyes oddly distant. "Dunno, I just wandered about for a bit. Did you finish your letter?" she said curtly.

Charlie nodded, taking up the long roll of parchment for her mother again and scanning in her words. "Nearly there. I explained everything."

"So the wedding is when, exactly?" Anna asked conversationally.

"The first Friday of our holidays," Charlie told her, rolling up her letter and sealing it.

"Can I come as your date?" Anna joked, and Charlie forced herself to smile.

"Don't think so, Anna," she said placidly.

Anna frowned at her. "Everything alright?" she asked. And Charlie could smile and nod her head. For the most part, it was the truth. This letter to her mother had explained everything - Charlie couldn't hold it in anymore - and by the present he'd sent her, it seemed that things had been remedied with her father, as if by magic, ironically.

She had thought about writing to him too, once she'd started her letter to her mother. But she had changed her mind. That was a bigger thing to spill about than a wedding, and it wasn't Charlie's decision to make. But at sixteen, she was starting to realize how wrong it was for her father to not even know who she was. And as days passed, it was harder and harder to live with. And the delicately poised bubble would have to burst soon, she could feel it.

It was really left to two things; Potter himself, and her Transfiguration grade. It seemed strange - she was maintaining relatively strong averages in everything else with the same amount of work, and she did work hard. After all, she supposed there must have been some reason she was made a prefect, and her academic success was the only one she could think of.

It was simply Transfiguration that was suffering. Dread bubbled ominously when she thought of going into that class the next day, as she was sure to get targeted, and a massive telling-off. It was her own fault, skipping the bloody makeup test. She had genuinely forgot, but she couldn't find a way to justify it to Professor Callworth. She could only hope that if he was going to yell at her, he wouldn't do it in front of everybody else.

XXX

The unfortunate thing about Transfiguration on Mondays was that it was directly after break, so it was very hard to plausibly turn up late to class and get away with it. She barely ate that morning, feeling like her hair was going to fall out, she was so worried. Callworth was intimidating, and ruthless.

She didn't even bother trying to go late - when Andrew asked if she wanted to walk to class, she tentatively agreed. It seemed to have fallen out of his head that they'd argued or even raised their voices at all, and although she felt she should have said something, she let it slide.

He talked idly, and she behaved normally - after all, what reason did she have to hold a grudge against Andrew? He was nice and pleasant, and sometimes when she wanted someone so completely detached from the rest of her dramatic life, he was good to talk to.

They took their places at the front of the class as usual, as Andrew was asking what she had received for her birthday. It was hard to focus on responding, since she was glancing at the door every two seconds with anxiety tying a knot in her stomach. And for once, it was the teacher she was looking out for, not James.

Once Professor Callworth strode in briskly, he sat down behind his desk and slammed his hands down on it. "Miss Alexander, you'll see me after class. Potter, up the front please."

"But sir, I haven't even done anything!" James protested angrily.

Callworth raised his eyebrows, glaring at James over his spectacles. "So you and Mr. Weasley didn't set off some of your famous uncle's fireworks in a first year class this morning?"

James' stumped silence was reply enough. Callworth nodded. "I think it's time we split up the dream team. Permanently."

Charlie glanced around; she couldn't explain it, since she hadn't spoken to him since their night in Hogsmeade, but all of a sudden it didn't seem like such a terrible thing for him to be sitting right beside her. She didn't know they were - she seemed to have successfully screwed that up with her little panic attack - but it wasn't as if she could blame Professor Callworth for wanting to split them up, and she didn't know why, but she didn't mind as much as she thought he would have done.

It was almost comfortable, even though the last time they'd even looked at each other - which, granted, was only an entirety of two whole days ago, but it seemed as if so much more time had passed - they'd torn themselves apart from the inside out.

Anna protested when Callworth asked her to move, and when she finally did, grudgingly, she could hear her bickering with Fred from the moment she sat down, all the way from the other side of the classroom.

Charlie glanced over at Anna, whose muttering under her breath was not as discreet as it could have been, and she grimaced. If Anna got into trouble, then it would be her, Charlie, who had to listen to her complain about it. And when Anna was in a temper, she was not someone Charlie liked to be around.

After a second, James shook his head, and hissed, "Oh, leave it. You already worry about everything else, no need worrying about her as well. She can take care of herself."

Charlie scowled at him. "Well, _you _won't have to listen to her."

"Don't be so sure about that," James replied, half-smirking. "Seriously, let it go. Why should you worry about her when she doesn't worry about you?"

There was something a little more scornful in his tone than Charlie would have expected; after frowning at him curiously for a second, which he studiously ignored, Charlie shrugged and ignored him. In fact, she was so caught up on intently listening to Anna threatening to shove Fred's wand up a very sensitive spot, she didn't realize that her name was being called until James nudged her elbow.

"Miss Alexander, the incantation?"

There was a pregnant pause, while the class held its breath, taking in the professor's mutinous expression. "I don't know, sir," Charlie said calmly, though she didn't _feel _calm.

"Let's try again then," Callworth muttered. "If I wanted to turn the already Transfigured object to glass, what would I have to be careful for?"

"I - I don't know," she stammered, feeling her heart start to race and her blood start to boil.

"Well, what _do _you know, Miss Alexander?" the teacher spat, making Charlie jump in surprise. She frowned and gulped; she didn't remember him being so vindictive in years before. Her hands were trembling, and when his cold eyes met hers, she just shook her head.

"That's what I thought," Callworth said, throwing his eyes upward, before he moved on. Charlie caught a glimpse of Anna, who looked more outraged than Charlie had seen her in a long time, and she felt a gush of warmth and gratitude for her best friend. She turned back around, her face bright scarlet and her breath hitching. Her eyes filled with tears, and after a second James reached across and gripped her fingers, giving them a comforting squeeze, and Charlie didn't bother trying to stop him because her heart rate slowed right down and she felt better and calm, her tears vanishing.

And she knew that nobody had noticed, which was a relief. But it hadn't stopped him. She pressed her lips together in a small smile, inclining her head in his direction.

And she wished she could say that that had been the end of it. But he had asked her to wait behind after class, and with fear bubbling like a particularly violent and nasty potion in her stomach, she waited in the silence, until she had started to wonder if he knew she was still there, as he bustled about the classroom as if she wasn't standing there.

"Sir, I'll be late for Ancient Runes," Charlie began, but with a look, the teacher silenced her.

She braced herself – and after a second, Callworth removed his glasses and launched into his lecture, and Charlie stood silently and accepted it, until the noises in the corridor had all died away, leaving behind an eerie silence only to be filled with Callworth going on and on.

She felt numb at the coarseness of his words; he gave her detention for the entire week, and told her if she failed her next test, she'd be sanctioned much more seriously.

"You've got to take yourself more seriously, Miss Alexander," he concluded sternly, and with tears glistening in her eyes she left the room quickly. James was waiting for her outside with a bleak expression on his face, and at the sight of him, a few stray tears brimmed over.

"Oh, not now, James," she said pleadingly. Without a word he held out his arms and she allowed him to pull her towards him and wrap his arms around her. She took in his scent, letting herself be soothed by it, and neither spoke for a minute.

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble," he said quietly.

"No you're not," Charlie mumbled into his shirt, feeling him shake with slight laughter.

"Are you alright?" he muttered. Charlie frowned to herself, and lifted her head.

"I'm really sorry," she said softly. He raised his eyebrows. "I overreacted."

"Yeah, you did," said James coolly.

Charlie grimaced as she took a step back. "I guess I'm just having a little trouble trusting you," she said hoarsely. "After everything . . ."

"Come on, Charlie," he said cajolingly. "Just try."

Charlie frowned. "You hardly expect me to forgive you overnight, do you?"

"Of course not," he said quickly. "Just . . . One date, that's all I'm asking." Her heart stuttered its exclamations, and Charlie bit back her smile. He cleared his throat, and in that second she took something from his expression that she hadn't realized before.

Bravery had always been something that had caused her turmoil – or her lack of it. And she had always thought that if she had just been a little stronger, she could have put an end to everything a long time ago. But it was so internalized for her that she didn't realize until that moment – it seemed that it was a matter of courage for more than just her.

"Charlie, I don't think I ever cared about anything as much," he told her, glancing over his shoulder as if he could hear footsteps approaching. "And I can't just – _pretend. _You're the only person I can really be myself with, you know that."

"I did know that," Charlie murmured. "But do you think I don't hear people talk, James?" He looked at her with a puzzled expression. "Everybody knows that you know how to talk romantic when you need to. It doesn't mean you mean it."

"Well, I do mean it," James said impatiently. "Don't tell me I don't care, please don't."

Charlie bit her lip, feeling tears sting the back of her eyes again. How did she ever get here? "But why would you?" she managed to choke out, slightly alarmed by the sudden change in his expression.

"You were right, Charlie," he said deliberately, taking her by the arms and staring at her intently. "You were completely right about me, about everything. And I'm tired. I'm tired of seeing you look at me like that, I'm tired of acting the way I do – And you're not going to believe me, but I can't get enough of you," he said, with a small smile. "And I'm sorry, okay? I'm _sorry. _For everything."

Charlie let out the air in her lungs like someone had punched her in the stomach, and for a few dizzying seconds she was convinced her heart would never beat again. "Damn it, Potter," she said with a scowl. James looked at her for a minute, flabbergasted. She shook her head, laughing and - not really having the courage to do something bold - she simply found her way into his arms like they had been made for her. "Why'd you have to actually be a decent person deep down?" she groaned.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno," he said lightly, grinning down at her. "Do you want me to apologize?"

Charlie let out a deep sigh. "No," she said feebly. "I just wish it wasn't . . . _so _deep down," she said grimly, and the mirth slid from his face. He held her gaze for a second, and then cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I suppose we should go to class," he muttered. "Unless you want me to get in trouble."

"Again," Charlie said with a nod.

"Again," he repeated grimly. She hardly knew what to do with herself when he slipped his hand into hers; he let out a chuckle when she blushed, and every inch of her was tingling with the bizarre feeling spreading through her. She hardly knew what to feel or think, and it seemed such a colossally vast concept to process that he was holding her hand and smiling at her like it was the simplest thing in the world. It was like she had strayed into a dream that seemed so incredibly inconceivable.

She didn't know long it was - for all she knew, it could have been months - in this strange moment, almost out of body, before he seemed to jolt awake and shake his head.

"Let's go," he muttered, inclining his head in the other direction. Charlie nodded, allowing him to tug her down the corridor.

"If we get in trouble," he added. "It's entirely your fault."

XXX

"You didn't talk to her, did you?"

Charlie clanged down her fork and stared at Talia with a sour expression. "No, I didn't, Talia," she said coolly. "But she's still _my _friend, so if I want to, I will."

Talia, her wide blue eyes gazing imploringly at Charlie, turned her head the other way, her chin sticking out contrarily. When she thought Charlie wasn't looking, she was toying with the strands of her dirty-blonde hair, falling in tangles and curls down her back.

"She's completely ignoring me," Talia muttered, avoiding Charlie's eyes. "Did you see her in Defence just now? I thought she was going to hex me."

Charlie sighed. "Me and Anna fight all the time," she said soothingly. "It'll sort itself out."

Talia let out an airy laugh. "You're hardly comparing us to you and Anna," she scoffed.

"What d'you mean?" said Charlie quickly.

Talia raised one eyebrow, her expression oddly vague. "Well, you and Anna are always at each other's throats," Talia pointed out. Then she giggled. "I swear, she nearly gagged when I told her you walked in late to Ancient Runes with James Potter."

Charlie felt the colour drain from her face. "When did you tell her that? That was two classes ago."

Talia shrugged her shoulders, eyeing Charlie curiously. "Just now, she was running upstairs." Charlie took a deep breath to steady herself, her lasagna forgotten on the table. Talia half-smirked. "Do you want to tell me what that was about?"

"Not particularly," said Charlie articulately, huffing.

Talia let out another giggle. "Fine. I don't need to say it."

"Say what?" said Charlie exasperatedly.

Talia just shook her head, smiling bemusedly. "Doesn't matter."

"What doesn't matter?" Out of breath, Anna squeezed herself in where there wasn't a space between Charlie and some affronted looking third years.

Talia opened her mouth to speak, but when she caught Charlie's eye, her panicked expression, she simply shrugged. "Nothing. Just some homework we're not doing." Charlie nodded her thanks, and Talia returned the look of understand. Charlie hurriedly returned to her lasagna before Anna could say anything to her.

"Ah, so we've finally turned the sweet little prefect to the dark side," Anna announced with triumph, clapping Charlie on the back, making her choke and cough on her food. "How did it go with Callworth?" Anna asked, thumping Charlie even harder so that she wouldn't choke to death.

Charlie scowled at her, only half playfully. "Could have gone worse," she said noncommittally, hiding her smile. But she couldn't do anything about the blush creeping up her cheeks, and Talia turned her head away to hide her smirk.

And Charlie couldn't help but glower at Talia for a second. "Where's Briony?"

Anna ignored her. "What do you mean it could have gone worse?" she yelped. "I thought you were done for."

"So did I," replied Charlie, shaking her head and shuddering.

"So what did he say?" Anna prodded.

Charlie sighed, embarrassed at the fact that she had to think about it for a second. His whole lecture had been so entirely eclipsed; she could barely get James' words out of her head. And while Anna was a different matter, she didn't really know why she hadn't just told Talia the truth. She didn't understand why she felt such a strong urge to keep this to herself - but she was giving in to it, either way.

"Oh," she said offhandedly, shrugging. "Just the usual. I better take myself more seriously or I'm going to be in a lot more trouble next time."

Anna frowned at her in concern. "You seem oddly unmoved by this," she commented, in what was unmistakably a cold tone.

Charlie just shook her head. "I'm working on it," she insisted. Thinking of her father and her siblings, even of her mother, and of James - maybe she could actually do something about her grades now. "I think it'll be okay."

Anna's skeptical expression did hurt a little bit, but she brushed it off. "Oh," Charlie added, having just remembered. "He gave me detention for every day this week." She frowned to herself - she had only just recalled that, and the disappointment seemed to break inside her. She bit her lip.

Anna's mouth fell open. "And you just neglected to mention it until now?"

Wrinkling her nose, Charlie turned her head away and didn't reply. "Where's Briony?" she repeated.

Anna's face fell. "Upstairs," she replied in a small voice. "She didn't feel like eating."

Charlie - having run out of sympathy - just rolled her eyes. "Really? That's what she didn't feel like doing?"

"Oh, don't, Charlie," groaned Anna. Talia rounded on her, angry - and even while she was angry, Charlie couldn't help but notice that even Talia's angry expression was a lot more vague and passive than anybody else's.

"It's really none of your business anyway," Talia snapped.

"Then stop talking to me about it!" Charlie snapped. "Just fix it!"

Talia let out a derisive snort. "Like you've fixed everything?" Charlie pressed her lips together, and after a second, a small smile spread across her mouth.

"This really isn't about me, anyway, Tal," she said, in a crisp tone.

Talia opened her mouth to retort, but Anna cut across her. "Look, we'd better get to class," she said diplomatically, her hands spread in front of her like she was laying down the law. Charlie nodded.

"Sorry," she muttered. "It's just . . . unfortunate."

Talia said nothing.

XXX

Tuesday was horrendous. Callworth had kept her so late on Monday night that she'd been up until all hours of the morning finishing her homework, and to her dismay, she hadn't even completed it. And she hadn't realized that until, exhausted, she traipsed into her classes, too tired to function, or even think.

In fact, apart from an obvious reason for looking forward to it, she was dreading having to fly around in the air and have people heave a heavy ball towards her. She arrived late - Callworth had been very reluctant to release her at all, and she was grumbling about the professor to Grace, who offered her a sympathetic smile.

Her comfort was that it could have gone a lot worse. She didn't actually play too badly, and it went surprisingly quick, and before she really knew what was happening she was pulling off her Keeper's gloves, and found herself face to face with Andrew Wood.

Andrew grinned at her. "You played really well today," he said, clapping her over the shoulder.

She smiled tiredly. "Thanks."

"Listen," Andrew lowered his voice. "Everything's alright, isn't it?"

"What do you mean, alright?" said Charlie quietly.

"With us," he prompted.

She nodded quickly, glancing at James over his shoulder, who had his arms folded and was staring at Andrew like hoping if he tried hard enough, he could will Andrew to burst into flames. He nodded and winked when he caught her eye, and when he left the pair of them alone, she knew she had to hurry this up.

"Sure, Andrew," she coughed out, waving her hand dismissively. "Of course it is."

Andrew nodded, and looked like there was something more he wanted to say, but Charlie just smiled briskly and strode past him, to where James was waiting, even though she was hardly able to believe it.

He smiled at her. "Listen, can I talk to you for a second?"

She nodded, raising one eyebrow.

He grimaced. "Can you just . . . let me deal with my friends before you say anything?"

"What, like, not tell anyone?" Charlie said, and already fear and dread and worry and anxiety were clawing at her heart and eating away at her, though she ignored it. There was a small part of her that was relieved, because she had to deal with Anna as well, just as much as he had to deal with his friends. In fact, how _was _she going to explain to Anna?

"Is that okay?" he said, biting his lip.

Charlie nodded. That would all sort itself out. "Sure," she said, forcing a small smile. And it seemed alright when he grinned down at her, holding out his hand.

"D'you wanna go for a walk?"

For a second she pretended that she was thinking about it, and when he scowled playfully, she nodded and took his hand. It was so different, so strange and weird, and it made her nervous and self-conscious, and she had yet to wrap her brain around any of it. But at the same time, it seemed oddly easy, like they should have done this ages ago.

Charlie smiled to herself. This was how it was supposed to feel.

* * *

THE END! No, I'm kidding. You should know by now that I'd never make it that easy. I need a new summary: true or false? If true, any suggestions? Thanks for reading!


	28. A Matter of Timing

Don't own Jo's marvelous world. Reviews would be lovely. Happy reading!

* * *

**A Matter Of Timing**

Scarcely able to believe that two weeks had flown so fast, James decided to go home for the holidays. Everyone who was staying at Hogwarts had caught the study fever, including Fred. He still hadn't said anything to Fred, which he knew was starting to worry Charlie.

he had no clue if she had managed to tell Anna or not - but he had tried to tell Fred, and failed. He came back from having been with her one evening, and he was greeted with three suspicious glares.

"Well, well, well," Fred had remarked. "If it isn't Casanova himself?"

"You were hardly with the same girl, were you?" asked Michael in revulsion, looking at James as if he would have liked to check his forehead for a fever.

Max had raised his eyebrows when James had turned bright red, and James felt panicked at his knowing smile. "You weren't with Alexander, were you, James?" he had asked.

Fred immediately perked up, a devilish grin spreading from nowhere. And James had caught on pretty quick - he felt sweat on the back of his neck, and his heart pounded faster and faster. He had known exactly what Fred was thinking in that moment, and he had panicked, horrified at the very thought - which was saying something. After all, he was still James Potter.

He shook his head frantically. "Why would I be?" he asked, sounding convincingly confused. He had seen the look in Fred's eye - and he wasn't going to put her, or himself, through that.

And after that, he had kept his mouth shut, fearful of what would happen when Fred found out. He could see where it would lead, and the thought made him sick. He couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't allow Fred to inadvertently screw everything up - they hadn't been happy long enough, so the secrecy of it all cast a looming, long shadow over the pair of them.

And he wasn't just leaving because _she _was going home, so she could go to her father's wedding - he needed some time away, to think about how he was going to deal with Fred in a way that would make him understand, in a way that would allow James to make it work with everyone. He didn't want to choose, and he had given up trying to decide long ago.

So he retreated to his home - though he was dreading it, as Al and Lily were staying at school - so that he could think, and to pass the time. It was a big mistake. He could still see the way she had looked at him, after he had done his best to explain that he needed to keep them quiet. He could see the doubt, even a little flicker of distrust, in her eyes, though she had nodded understandingly.

But that wasn't his only problem. His parents sat him down after half a week, and he'd gotten a firm lecture on taking himself more seriously, on his grades, on his whole life.

"James, it's really time you start thinking about what you're going to do after school," his mother said briskly. "

"I'm sixteen!" James protested hotly - but he should have known it was futile. No one ever listened to a sixteen-year-old.

It came back - the reason Quidditch was so important, the reason that he secretly liked doing so well in school, without putting in that much effort. He thought of Al, who was so hard-working, but more than that, so kind and considerate. And Lily, who somehow managed to brighten up everyone's day simply by existing. He fell flat, he thought, compared to the two golden kids.

There was a reason he liked being the Quidditch star, that he liked being important in Hogwarts. He had never voiced it before, but it was his parents he was trying to impress, along with everybody else.

They loved him, he knew that. But since he had begun fifth year, they had _smothered _him, because they wanted him to do well. But he _did _do well. So what were they worried about?

Why did the constantly badger him to study more, to apply himself more, when he had never gotten below an E in his life? Why wasn't it enough to do well in school, and to be doing well with Quidditch? What more could they possibly have wanted from him?

And though he knew they meant well, and did what they did because they cared, and although he would never tell them this, they always found a way of making James feel like he wasn't good enough.

XXX

And it appeared, they weren't the only ones. He was so relieved to be back at Hogwarts, where he could easily ignore the messages Lily passed on from his parents telling him to study. He had even thought he could even get around Fred - he was optimistic at least. But when he caught her eye over the dinner table the night he got back, he knew that there was something.

And once he got her alone, he found out exactly what. "How was the wedding?" he started, once he'd dragged her away from the rest of her life, for some privacy. He took in her frown when she replied.

"Fine," she said. "Weird. It's not my mother, you know? This woman, that my dad _loves - _and it just hit me that I'd probably never see my parents in the same room again."

James blinked for a second, and wrapped his arms around her. "You okay?"

She sighed, and after a pregnant pause, she shook her head, pushing him away by his chest. "Don't," she said quietly. "I've been thinking."

James swore. "I hate when people do that," he said, with a grim smile.

She laughed a little, but it didn't last long. "Listen, James," she said slowly. "Begging me not to mention it before we go on holidays doesn't really scream 'happy'."

"Oh, don't," he pleaded.

"I can't do it, James," she told him pointedly. "I can't be your dirty little secret."

"You're not," he said quietly.

"Well, it seems like it," she said, her voice kind. "And I can't do that. I think I trust you, James. But I won't have you be ashamed of me. So make up your mind."

With that, she had slipped past him with a grim smile, back to her friends, and not for the first time, leaving James standing there, stunned.

It must have been three days later by the time his anger had simmered down, and he was left with desperation. Dinner was torture - she was sitting not twenty feet away from him, and yet here he was, sitting there idly. Being the fool, as usual.

Fred was scoffing when Michael mentioned a name. "Virgin," he remarked.

"What's wrong with that?" James muttered, purely for argument's sake, throwing Fred a smug smile.

Fred raised his eyebrows. "You feeling okay, James?"

James nodded. "Fine."

"I think he's trying to be a nice guy," commented Michael, poking James with the end of his fork like he was prodding a dead, sluggish mass that he hoped wouldn't move.

He glanced up the table again. And for once in his life, he couldn't have cared less who saw him, what happened to his reputation. "Be right back," he muttered lightly, to their stunned faces, and he strode down to where Charlie was sitting. Henderson - the one with the straggly blonde hair - nudged Charlie and she turned around.

"Fine," he said loudly, making a couple of third years jump in surprise. She raised her eyebrows; James studiously ignored Anna, whose face was thunderous. " want it. I want to do this right, or whatever." He was relieved when she smiled. "And I don't care who knows, I don't. I'll do it all, Charlie. I'll sit and be bored while you study, I'll quiz you on Transfiguration until you know it backwards, I'll introduce you to my parents, I'll hold your hand between classes and brag about you to my friends, I swear I will."

He caught his breath, and only then did he take in the smile creeping up on her; he avoided looking at Anna, who was quiet and pale, staring at Charlie. And Charlie let out the breath she'd been holding in and got to her feet, her features softening. And he went rigid, staring down at her. He'd been so happy, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed like she was about to snatch it all away from him, her face as unreadable as it had always been.

And they'd only had a couple of weeks - surely that wasn't long enough for them to have been happy. And he had been, he'd been near euphoric.

And then she smiled, stretching up to press a kiss to his cheek, to general astonishment. And he could breathe again.

"Come on," she said, feigning exasperation. But her fingers twined into his. "Let's go for a walk." And he could easily ignore anyone who bothered turning around - his reputation didn't seem to bother him for a change. And with that, they left the hall. And James grinned, thinking that he should have done this a long time ago.

XXX

He was watching her, but she wasn't looking at him. She was staring at the window, and her fingers were laced together, her arms outstretched towards the window as if she could touch the stars.

She let out a deep sigh, blinking. James smiled, marvelling at this feeling of peace, of complete comfort. He didn't know that something could feel so right, but here he was, and it seemed to interminably right, so easy and perfect.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked her, and he registered the surprise flashing across her features. But he couldn't help but ask her; he believed he could say he knew her, but there was so much more to her, and he wanted to know it all. Starting with what he really needed to know.

She finally turned her head so she could look at him, blinking, her eyes twinkling from the light of the stars and the moon beaming through the window. "Yeah, I have," she said dreamily. "Just the once."

"Really?" he said quickly, his chest contracting.

She nodded, grimacing. "Yeah."

"Go on, let's hear it," he said, forcing himself to grin as if he was looking forward to hearing a particularly juicy story that wasn't about to suck the air from his lungs and twist his stomach into knots.

She groaned, looking at him pleadingly. But he stared at her appraisingly, determinedly - and under the piercing look he gave her, she broke and let out another groan. "Fine," she said forcefully. "His name's Brian," she began, with a grim expression. James waited, barely breathing in case he missed something. At least it didn't look like such a happy thing for her to talk about. "And he lived in the house next to me. I more or less grew with him. He was sort of my best friend, you know?"

James nodded, swallowing. This boy that he didn't even know had had years, had known her nearly her whole life. Suddenly, a strong, irrational dislike for this bloke surfaced, and he let her go on.

"Sometime through fourth year, I fell for him," she went on, with a pained look on her face. "Spent every waking moment with him. And he knew. He used to make fun of me all the time." James opened his mouth, but when she saw his expression, she smiled soothingly. "Not like that. He was just joking."

"Funny joke," James remarked. "So what happened anyway?" he asked in spite of himself.

"Oh," she sighed heavily, shaking her head. "We kissed once, that was about it. Next day, he told me he'd been accepted to a very prestigious art school. In Colorado. He left a week later. Haven't heard from him since."

He couldn't place her tone - it wasn't emotionless, and he could tell she was trying to keep it airy. But there was something about it than made him frown at her.

"Sorry," he said huskily, watching her closely.

She shrugged her shoulders, smiling peacefully across at him. "It's fine," she said, as she sat up and leaned back on her hands, staring around her.

"Do you miss him?" he asked, and when she bit her lip, he felt such a strong surge of rage and dislike and envy for this boy that he didn't even know.

"I don't know," came her muffled, weak reply. "Sometimes I suppose I wonder what we could have had. But . . . " she shook her head, and James forced himself to keep quiet. "Romantically we didn't have anything," she told him, matter-of-factly. "And I can't miss what I never had, can I?"

James didn't reply; he just looked at her curiously, and wondered whether she realized that her words were no comfort. This bloke, even though she had said nothing about him, seemed so infinitely better than him, and already he was weighted down with the worry of how he was ever supposed to compete. Because he was James Potter, and James Potter was never good enough.

"He was my best friend though," Charlie went on, frowning into her lap. "I miss that."

"So d'you still fancy him?" James asked, and for both their sake his tone was light and joking. She turned her head, blinking up at him from beneath her thick, dark eyelashes. And she was staring at him intently, and once again, he couldn't read her expression. Where she could tell what he was thinking immediately, he hadn't the faintest idea what was running through her head, though he could tell by her eyes that _something _was, at least. And the idea terrified him.

"Nah," she said eventually, and her voice had suddenly become much softer, and James noticed how quiet it suddenly was in the deserted corridor. "I don't even know if I'll see him again."

James didn't say anything for a few minutes, listening intently for the sound of her heart, wondering was it thudding as rapidly as his own. And after a few seconds, he heard her let out a deep sigh and she got to her feet so she could come and sit down beside him against the wall. He took her hand in his own and turned it over like he was trying to memorize it.

"So what about you?" she asked.

He frowned. "What about me?" he asked, with a cheeky grin. But even as he slid his arm around her shoulders, she turned to him with one eyebrow raised, giving him a look that clearly said: _'You're not getting off that easy.'_

James sighed in defeat after a second. "I haven't. Not really. It's more the other way around, to tell you the truth," he said with a smirk, as if he was simply telling her about the weather the other day.

She scowled. "Ah yes," she said, and she matched his joking tone. "I've heard all about that."

"You have," James replied, repeated her words like he was trying to make them sink in.

"Mm," she murmured, nodding her head. She smiled coyly at him. "The entire castle has a crush on you, apparently."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Silly schoolgirl crushes, that's all," he said airily.

"I don't know," Charlie replied. "A crush is a crush." He caught her gaze for a few seconds, and James was afraid to smile or laugh or look away from her. He couldn't read her expression, but after a second he felt his breath hitch at the look in her eyes, and she looked down, clearing her throat awkwardly. James could see her smiling to herself though.

When she raised her head again, her expression was cool and sort of mocking. "So come on," she coaxed. "Spill."

James let out a sigh, throwing his eyes upwards. "There was one girl last year," he admitted, avoiding Charlie's gaze. "I thought I could have fallen for her if I had the chance."

"You didn't have the chance?" she said quietly, and James couldn't help but be a little disappointed at how well she'd reacted. He could detect no trace of dislike or jealousy like what he'd felt. She seemed only keenly interested.

"Nah," James replied nonchalantly. "Didn't work out."

"Why not, James?" she said, feigning horror and confusion. "I thought everybody loved you."

James grinned in spite of himself, racking his brains for an acceptable way of explaining. "We had . . . differences of opinions," he said lamely, earning himself a skeptical look.

"Really?" she said dryly.

And James held out as long as he could, but he knew she could read it on his face, and he threw up the hand that wasn't around her shoulders in defense. "Alright, alright," he said, resigned to admit what she already knew. "I was a prat, okay? I liked it, I liked girls chasing me, I liked everyone loving me, I liked having a different girl to snog every week," he admitted in a loud voice. "You win."

"So, in short," she said briskly, as she maneuvered herself so that she could twine her arms around his neck, and he was leaning over her. "You loved being a complete player?"

He pulled back so he could scan her face. "Yeah, I did," he murmured, as if he was just realizing how much truth there was in that. She slid down to the floor, pulling him with her. He gulped, although he didn't understand why he could be so nervous. He'd done this a million times before - why was it so different now, why did it make a difference the way she was looking at him through her thick eyelashes? Why was his heart racing, why was every inch of him tingling with newfound excitement and nervousness?

She chewed her lip, her chest heaving when she took a deep, shaky breath. "And do you still?" she said eventually, and he could feel her fingers at the back of his neck. He was so close to her he could have counted her eyelashes.

"No, of course not," he whispered, and when he spoke his lips brushed off hers. He kissed her gently, and when she pulled back slightly, she smiled up at him wryly. He moved his lips to her neck, and he felt her laugh softly.

"I don't know, James," she said coyly, and though her tone clearly said she wasn't serious, he still froze. "I wonder how many girls you're saying that to." Her voice was low and husky, and there was mischief in her eyes, but he was too panicked to see it.

"Just you," he said quickly. "I swear, Charlie, I -"

She cut him off, her hands on his shoulders, giving him a little shake. "James, I was joking," she told him, giggling at his frenzied expression.

"That's not funny," he said feebly. It wasn't funny at all, and he could picture Anna in his mind's eye, smirking at him. With a few words, she threatened to ruin everything. Just like that. And though he wasn't about to tell Charlie that, he needed to try and say how little it meant. He desperately needed her to understand. "I mean it, there hasn't been -"

She placed her fingers over his mouth and shook her head. "I _know,_" she said soothingly. "I believe you. I do."

James grinned, the muscles in his heart loosening slightly. "I never thought I'd hear you say that," he muttered, pulling her upright as he sat up. She pulled at his wrist so she could read his watch, and then sighed.

"I have to go," she said, standing up and brushing out her skirt. "Me and Anna are studying."

"Still failing?" he asked as he stood up, throwing her a cheeky grin.

She just rolled her eyes, standing on her tiptoe to kiss him swiftly, and once she had smiled softly and headed down the corridor, James traipsed back to the common room. He was in the door and Fred - who had been wreaking havoc among some fourth years - wheeled his arm around James' shoulders. And for one, brief second, it was like nothing had changed. Because James missed it, the sort of joking around that had seemed real, even when they did not. And it had slipped through their fingers; he hadn't realized that being himself would make everything so seriously.

He felt a pang in his gut as this realization dawned on him - after all, there was some truth in the joking around. And he didn't have to let go of _all _of that, did he? Because, as Fred led him around to where Michael was talking to two sixth years, he realized that he didn't want to give up himself entirely.

"That was some stunt you pulled," Fred remarked, with a triumphant smile. The grin slid from James' face.

"Some - what?"

Michael muttered something to the sixth years and turned to face James, who felt like he'd been thrown into a pit full of snakes with no warning. Without really thinking, he shrugged Fred's arm off him and shooed a group of second years as far away from their couch as they could position themselves, and flopped onto it.

"Yeah, why didn't you tell us you were planning that?" Michael said, grinning at James - and James could have sworn there was almost relief in his eyes, and he was thinking the same thing Fred was thinking, and the same thing that James couldn't keep from his head. They had the old James back. And it was a good feeling, he realized. He missed his friends, he missed this sense of importance and belonging.

He said nothing, permitting them a small, wan smile.

"We would have helped!" exclaimed Fred, glancing at Michael with a smirk.

James nodded distractedly, avoiding saying anything. "Where's Max?" he asked.

"Don't know," shrugged Michael. "Seriously, mate, this is your best idea since we put flobberworms in the Ravenclaws' shepard's pies in second year, d'you remember?" He sat back on the couch, a fond, wistful expression taking over him.

"That was in second year?" James spluttered. They nodded. "Blimey, we were evil, weren't we?"

They exchanged a dubious glance. Then Fred seemed to shrug it off. "So why didn't you tell us about your little conquest, James?"

It was that moment that Max decided to descend from the boys' dormitory, looking as though he had just enjoyed a long, restful nap. He frowned and sat down on the coffee table, raising his eyebrows at James.

"And what conquest is this?" he drawled, his expression oddly sombre.

Michael was shaking his head. "How did you get her to go for it?" James gulped, realizing how entirely wrong his friends had it. And he couldn't help but feel a little hurt - did they think that low of them? He'd never been with a girl for very long - long here measuring up to about a week of snogging in a quiet spot - so it didn't really bother him whether he'd broken hearts or not. But this was so enormously different, he didn't even know where to begin.

"I don't really think -"

"So when's the big finale?" asked Fred excitedly, and Max was glancing rapidly between the three of them; James could see the cogs in his brain working behind his eyes.

"Haven't really . . . thought that far ahead," muttered James vaguely.

"So, what?" asked Michael, and James couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his manner, like this was something that he was in on. "When are you going to shag her and finish it off?" He and Fred laughed loudly at that, and James opened his mouth to speak.

Max nudged James in the ribs, nodding over James' shoulders. And he knew, before he'd even turned around. What he wasn't expecting was for Anna Goldstein to storm off and hit him painfully over the back of his head.

He twisted around, and there she was, and he felt that it would have better if she was crying, or angry. But he felt sick when he saw her - she didn't look upset or angry or anything. Her expression was just dead. And that worried him more than anything else could have.

The boys started to snigger - except for Max, who forced himself off and strode away - but for once in his life James didn't care about them. He was on his feet.

"Charlie, it's really not what you -"

"No," she cut across him, holding up a hand to silence him, and he was astounded and terrified by how steady her voice was. "Don't bother, James. I don't want to hear it." Her eyes raked over him for a moment, and he felt like he was going to vomit. He'd never felt this worthlessness, this fear that was holding onto his heart so tightly, it was sure to burst at any moment. "I'm finished," she said, shaking her head.

And with a sigh - rather like a disappointed exhalation a teacher gives when a student hasn't done as well as they should have - she turned on her heel and left the common room, not with an angry stride like Anna does. She simply walked as if she had somewhere to be, and it really couldn't wait.

He glanced at Max, whose eyebrows had disappeared under his hair, and at the boys, who had stopped laughing and were now frowning at each other in puzzlement. And swearing to himself, he stuttered for a second before he followed her - the way he knew he was supposed to.

Even when she left the common room, she didn't cry. James didn't know what to think - he'd seen her cry for less. She even stopped immediately when she heard her name, and she didn't look close to tears. She looked devoid of all emotion.

"Charlie, it wasn't like that, I swear," he blurted out once he'd caught up to her, out of breath.

She wrinkled her nose. "Then what's it like?"

He stuttered for a second, and taking that as what he presumed was a rather shoddy explanation, she took a few steps back from him.

"How could I possibly have taken that up wrong?" she asked, in a soft voice, like she was broken beyond anger.

"They were just joking around," he began, but she was shaking her head before he'd finished. And he wished she wouldn't stare right at him, so piercingly, because it was making him feel worse and worse by the second. If _she _wasn't going to cry, he would.

"Exactly," she said in a hushed voice. "It's all just one joke. And I believed you. 'We can make it work', 'this means something', 'you felt something'," she muttered, and his blood ran cold at the sound of his own words. "Tell me why I trusted you in the first place, James," she whispered, and James swallowed the lump in his throat. She just seemed so disappointed, and that was all.

She sighed bitterly. "How could I have been so stupid - "

"You weren't, Charlie, I -"

"That wasn't up for debate," she said quickly. "I was. And I've put up with you for so long, James," she croaked, looking at the floor and shaking her head. "And do you have any idea how this makes me feel? I can't remember being more embarrassed, and that's a lot considering all you've put me through," she added, letting out a small, mirthless laugh. "But I've put up with you for too long, James. And you were _so _full of shite. I actually bought it. I can't believe I fell for it." She raised her eyes to meet his, and he felt his hands trembling, his head dizzy. "A scared little boy, that's all you are," she whispered. "I'm finished. So you got what you wanted. You broke me - congratulations."

She shook her head at him as if to say that she was glad to be rid of him, and with a deep, cleansing sigh, she turned away and meandered aimlessly down the corridor. She didn't look back, and James was left standing, wondering how on earth this could have happened.

And a small voice in his head, that sounded remarkably like Anna Goldstein, sneered: "_Go back to your friends, James. You belong with them." _

* * *

For a start, I'm so so sorry that my chapters keep getting longer and longer. I don't really know what's happening. Lot in this chapter, I know, and I'm sorry it took me so long to introduce James' problems. Seems like the poor kid had enough to be dealing with already. He does now, anyway! Which reminds me - I know there's a lot of _just _the two of them in this chapter, it was pretty necessary. I hope it wasn't too one-dimensional for anybody. Thanks for reading! Reviews, I love them!


	29. Fever You Can't Sweat Out

I've got the rest of this written (so if you're going to try and change it, don't bother please) so it's all good to go, and I'm currently debating with myself whether to go beyond fifth year. I will let you know as soon as I decide. I could be wrong, but I think the title is a Fall Out Boy song. I own nothing you recognize, happy reading.

* * *

**Fever You Can't Swear Out**

"I'm sorry, Charlie -"

"Don't care."

"If you'd just let me explain -"

"Don't waste your breath."

"I just -"

"I'm not interested," Charlie said forcefully, quickening her pace to catch up with Anna, who simply raised her eyebrows and said nothing. If Charlie was honest, she would have admitted that she was genuinely concerned about Anna's lack of a reaction. Of course, there had been here initial response, but that was minuscule, positively tranquil compared to how Anna had blown up over far lesser things.

But she was keeping a careful eye on Charlie, she knew, and was keeping very quiet. If Charlie had been expecting an explosion, it didn't come, no matter how many times they saw James around the castle.

Even when he _tried _to talk to her, Anna would say nothing. Either she would stare at the same sentence she was reading with her features frozen until Charlie got up or sent him away, or she would drift off aimlessly until Charlie caught up with her.

And there was no way she was listening to him. She had given that stupid prat enough of her time. And besides, she had other problems, besides James bloody Potter.

She hadn't heard from her mother. At all. While she'd known that she was hardly going to take all the news well, she had at least expected a reply. She'd written two more letters in the past couple of days. And she was anxiously waiting a reply - she had expected her mother to quiz her on every last detail of the wedding, down to the flavour of the cake and the colour of the balloons, and Charlie couldn't help but mull over the Easter holiday's events, even if it was just to keep her mind occupied.

She had enjoyed the wedding, she was surprised to find. Apart from the very moment that the bride and groom had said '_I do'. _She liked Carol as much as anyone could like the person who openly admitted to trying to replace her mother - but she couldn't do anything to prevent the chill that ran down her spine when she heard those words. Just like that, this woman was now tied to Charlie's life in a way that she never had imagined.

It was such a foreign and strange sight to Charlie, his father with another woman. She tried to imagine another man living with her mother, them simply living their lives, but the man was faceless, and it made her feel sick. It was just bizarre, like she had strayed into an utterly different alternate universe, somebody else's lives.

And she realized sadly, that she couldn't remember when everybody had stopped being happy.

And her father wasn't really worrying her anymore - but several things had taken his place, like the repercussions of the very public argument that Lizzie and Peter had at the reception. Now Lizzie was no longer speaking to Peter, Katie was no longer speaking to Lizzie for ruining the day, but no longer speaking to Peter because secretly she was taking Lizzie's side. Peter was no longer speaking to Lizzie, and once he'd realized that Katie was out with him too, he had taken it out on Charlie, to whom he was no longer speaking.

Charlie was speaking to everyone - but no one was listening. How could her siblings end up at each other's throats, at the very occasion that was meant to celebrate love and family?

And that wasn't even the worst of it. No, the worst of it was that Lizzie had become so angry, she subconsciously caused the cake to explode and the balloons to pop and the chairs to splinter and break. And this was a series of events that their father found incredibly, tragically, interesting. In fact, so high was his intrigue that he badgered Charlie for what she thought had happened every day until the last dwindling hours of their holidays.

And Charlie knew there and then - the truth was starting to poke its head up, overcoming the hands forcing it back down. And they couldn't keep this hidden for much longer. If only someone else would listen to her.

Charlie had enough to contend with involving her family - she didn't need everything else to start deteriorating too. She skived off Quidditch practice - there was a great deal of contempt brewing up, and though she knew it wasn't healthy or wise to bottle it up, she continued to do it, day in, day out - but there was also a great deal of sadness that hit her in the chest as forcefully as if someone had punched her in the stomach whenever she saw him. She couldn't describe the sort of hollow emptiness that overwhelmed her.

It felt like someone had ripped a hole in her chest, and she doubted that she could even mount a broom, let alone Keep. So she didn't go, because her heart still ached and she wasn't ready to face any of it.

But that wasn't the end of it. Even on a day that there was a small ray of light poking through the clouds that seemed to be following her around, things weren't going her way. In a curious turn of events, she was elated to find that she had managed to scrape an 'A' in Transfiguration. It wasn't much, considering that there was a two-month period in second year when she had received nothing but 'O's. Of course, a lot had changed since second year, she had changed a lot since second year.

But if she could even barely manage an 'E', she would be delighted. However, it was encouraging to find that she had at least passed, and she was somewhat less miserable when she left the Transfiguration classroom. In fact, it hadn't even been a bad lesson, as Callworth had spent the entire time lecturing them on how imminent their OWLs had become, and how those of them who had not been applying themselves fully still had the time to turn it around. She had a sneaking suspicion that this lecture had been directed somewhat at her, but it had taken up most of the class, which had cheered her up a little as well.

He was right, Charlie realized. This side of Easter, the exams were only a little under two months away, and they were starting to get to people. Several people had been administered a Calming Draught, two girls had broken down in Ancient Runes that very morning and swore that they couldn't do it. Charlie had heard a rumour going around that someone had broken out in sudden boils during Divination. Privately, she put it down to the stuffiness of Trelawney's tower, but she didn't voice this opinion. Quite a number of people really liked Divination.

Even still, she felt a little bit less miserable during lunch, and even optimistic when lunch was over, because she _liked _Friday afternoons - Astronomy, Charms and Potions, which were all fine.

By the time they were walking down from the Astronomy Tower, it seemed to hit Talia and Anna how close the exams were.

"I mean, _how _are we already halfway through April?" Anna was screeching. "When did that even happen?"

"Right after March?" Charlie suggested, earning herself a very dark glare.

"I mean - how are we going to do this?" she went on, as if she hadn't heard Charlie. Charlie shook her head, and turned to Talia. Once Anna had told Talia what happened with James, Talia had immediately forgiven Charlie for being short, for being exasperated.

"So have you talked to Briony?" she asked her. Talia looked at her with sad eyes, and sighed.

"I said hello to her at breakfast this morning," she mumbled.

Charlie grimaced. These girls were best friends - better friends than she would considered herself and Anna to be, although she would never say that out loud - and here they were, barely able to say two words to each other.

"She ignored me," Talia added.

Charlie heaved a deep sigh. "She just doesn't understand what's going on with you," she said kindly. "I mean . . . If she just knew, I'm sure she'd be more than sympathetic."

Talia let out a derisive snort. "Right, I'm sure. I'm sure she'd react very well if I told her I might just love her."

In spite of all that had gone wrong, Charlie still felt a spurt of warmth at the word. How someone could remain in love without something screwing it up was really a beautiful thing.

"Faint heart never won fair lady," Charlie said, as if asking Talia a question.

Talia wrinkled her nose. "Point taken."

She was actually even feeling a little cheerful by the time they were waiting outside the Potions classroom, shivering a little from the chill in the dungeons. Anna had decided to skip the class, and to her utter delight, Talia and Briony were now standing a little away from the rest of the group, in what looked to be a very intense conversation.

But she was slightly less pleased when they sat down at a worktable together. Not really thinking, she made to grab Andrew by the arm as they headed into the classroom, but James was too quick for her. She glared at him, and she looked around for a spare spot at a worktable. But there was none.

"You missed practice," he said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"And?" Charlie replied idly, blinking up at him. She was beyond caring. She couldn't allow herself to care. If she even started to let herself care a little bit, she would never stop, and it would hurt too much.

"You can't just miss practice," he spluttered.

"I was busy," she replied, in that same false, airy tone she had adopted whenever he tried to talk to her.

"Look," he said, lowering his voice. "I know you're angry -"

"Don't you think that's understatement?" she hissed back in spite of herself, but a second later she shook it off. "I don't care, Potter, really." She saw something flicker across his face as he registered the use of his last name, but she was too worn out to decipher it.

"You do," he growled, visibly seething. She could feel Andrew's eyes fixed on the pair of them, and for a second she wondered whether he could hear them or not. James heaved his cauldron up onto the desk, and immediately, she resented that she hadn't used her own cauldron.

And she was shaking her head, her hands on her hips. "It's one thing after another with you," she muttered, not really caring whether Andrew could hear or not. "First you ignore me. Then you _kiss _me. Then you ignore me again. Then you tell me you want it to work. And then I find out the whole thing was just a big joke?" She could feel her rage prodding at the surface, under which she was pushing it further and further down. She hadn't spoken this openly about it at all. And she ignored his anguished expression. He was a damn good liar.

"Come on, get a move on!" came the booming voice from the top of the class, and throwing him a dirty look she flipped open her book and started measuring out some roots.

"If you'd just give me a chance to explain," he said hotly.

"Explain the whole grand idea?" she said sharply. "I think I got a pretty clear idea, thanks."

She scooped up some porcupine quills, so intent on occupying herself so that she didn't have room to concentrate on him, or look at him, that she hardly registered that he was just gaping at her.

"Why are you being like this?" he snapped, and she was so completely distracted by this that she tipped the entire supply of porcupine quills in her hands into the cauldron, and it hissed threateningly.

"What on earth could you possibly mean?" she said, forcing herself to keep her voice steady, their potion forgotten, but starting to spew, calling for their attention.

He shrugged his shoulders. "You're just being stubborn for the sake of it," he grumbled, and just as she raised her eyebrows, mouth poised open to reply, he cut her off with a look, and a second too late they caught the smell of burning.

"Is it - is it melting?" she muttered to herself, ducking her head.

He caught her arm. "I wouldn't, if I were you," he said, pulling her upright. She yanked her arm out of his grasp.

"Don't even think about it," she started to say, but the pair next to them shrieked and the cauldron was melting before their eyes. What startled Charlie was how little she cared. She just backed far enough away so she wouldn't get burned. But as far as she was concerned, a melted cauldron was the tiniest collateral damage she could imagine.

XXX

She didn't really know why she chose to do it so privately. If she wanted to, she could have done it before or after practice - which she grudgingly attended - or in the common room, or even during class. But she didn't.

Charlie waited until it was their turn to do patrols. She didn't really know why - but she knew what she was doing it for. She wanted someone or something to take it away, all of it, to erase it all. A fresh start, or whatever it was called.

And Andrew was just as good as anything. She was walking beside him, watching her feet take turns hitting the cold floor, and she had no clue what he was talking about. It was small talk anyway, and when she jerked her head up, he was in the middle of something that she had no hope of following.

And there was a time she would have let him finish, she would have let him go on and on without saying a word until he'd said all he had to say. But her head was spinning, and she was feeling suffocated by all the words. She could barely concentrate.

So she interrupted him, pulling him to a stop in the middle of the corridor. "Andrew, can I ask you something?" she said briskly, and he nodded down at her, although his face was restrained.

Charlie sighed. "Listen - if you - if you'd still like to," she said slowly. It was almost like she was standing beside herself, watching her being there, watching her saying this. She could scarcely believe herself. "I wouldn't mind taking you up on that Hogsmeade invitation."

He stared down at her for a minute. And after a second, his face crumpled into an expression that seemed oddly sympathetic. "Listen, did Potter say something to you?" he asked quietly. "You looked . . ."

Charlie shook her head. "When does he not?" she said sarcastically. "Don't worry about it, Andrew. If I took everything he said to me too seriously, I'd have broken down a long time ago." It hurt to force it out like it was so casual - because that was exactly what she'd done. Taken _everything _too seriously, and look where it had gotten her.

She swallowed. "Can't really let him get to me," she croaked.

"But did he get to you?" Andrew prodded.

She smiled passively. "Nah," she said soothingly. "I swear."

And after a second, he nodded. "You know, I did tell you I'd take care of him -"

"I don't need you to take care of him!" she said imploringly. She didn't need anybody taking care of him, and she felt like yelling that she didn't need anybody taking care of her. But she reigned her annoyance back.

He let it slide anyway. "So . . . " he said slowly. "You want to go to Hogsmeade?" he asked.

Smiling slightly, she nodded.

"With me?" he prodded. "On a date?"

Scowling playfully up at him, she nodded again. "Would you like me to spell it out for you?" she muttered ironically.

He threw her a puzzled look, and Charlie couldn't stem the slight disappointment. But he shrugged it off, smiling as they started down the corridor again. "So what made you change your mind?" he asked her jovially.

She swallowed, licking her dry lips. "Came to my senses, I suppose," she muttered, her voice thick and hoarse.

"Right, well," Andrew paused for a second. "I'm glad you did," he said eventually, and Charlie waited for something with more depth, with more _anything, _to follow. But it didn't.

And she knew that Andrew was pleased, and she forced herself to be glad she'd made him this happy. But she hesitated when his hand reached for hers - she could see James in her mind's eye, and she could hardly believe that she had lied so blatantly, and bluntly to Andrew. Because he had gotten to her, in every way she could have possibly conceived.

But look at how that had ended. She should have known - why hadn't she thought clearly? She should have realized sooner that it was foolish to expect something different from a person like him. People like him didn't change, no matter how much she wanted to believe it.

So she smiled up at Andrew and allowed him to take her hand, although neither of them said anything until they were back in the common room. It wasn't bad - in fact, in a way, it was even sort of nice - but there was a part of her that was screaming that it was undeniably, inherently wrong. She ignored this part, since there was another voice in her head begging to just get on with it.

And whether it was right or wrong - how was she ever supposed to know? - it was so different. Her nerves weren't searing, her heart wasn't thundering and tripping over itself as it quickened to an alarming rate, and her bones weren't splintering with joy. She wasn't completely beside herself.

And that was exactly the problem. She was so aware of everything, she was so completely herself. She knew that she should have been lost in those few moments, barely aware of anything else in the world but the boy beside her. But she wasn't in the moment, she was viewing it like a spectator.

And it wasn't a bad feeling. But it wasn't a good feeling either.

Once they were back in the common room, Charlie announced that she was going to get an early night. Andrew grinned and relinquished hold of her hand.

"So, when's the next Hogsmeade trip?" he asked her, in a conversational tone.

"Dunno," she said with a shrug. "Find out, will you?"

He nodded, and before she realized what he was about to do, he leaned down and kissed her. She frowned, but returned the kiss, trying to force herself to feel what she had gotten so used to feeling. And he did nothing wrong - apart from the fact that he had kissed her in front of everybody. Eventually she pulled back and fought to keep her lip from trembling, managing to smile up at him. And determined not to glance towards the corner where the other fifth year boys were crowded, she retreated to her dormitory.

She lay awake for hours - maybe days. At one point, Anna poked her head around the corner to ask her why she suddenly found the ceiling so interesting. But Charlie hadn't even been able to answer her.

It was only a kiss, she told herself for hours. She'd been kissed before, it wasn't like she hadn't. But it would taste a lie that she could still taste James on her mouth. And while she'd been kissed before he came along, it was almost as if she might as well have not been kissed at all. She couldn't remember any kiss before him with a great deal of clarity, anyway.

And though she knew that James kissed so expertly because he had a lot of experience in that area, it didn't change the fact he knew exactly what he was doing. He had known where to put his hands, he'd known how to kiss her in a way that would make her respond, he knew when to be forceful and demanding, when to be softer. There were times when she just wanted someone else to take control, and he had done just that, without ever pushing her so far that she felt like she couldn't take back the control if she'd wanted to.

She could feel it on her mouth, the way he always seemed to know just how much pressure to exert. He always just knew what she wanted.

And it was terrible, but that was why she was suddenly feeling miserable again. Andrew was _so _different. Andrew never made her go weak in the knees. And Charlie didn't think he ever would. That kiss had been nothing - no fireworks, no electricity. Not even the slightest spark. Just . . . flat.

She felt she was going to cry, groaning into her pillow and pummeling it into a more comfortable position. Would this feeling plague her for the rest of her life, or would it eventually fade? Would she ever forget about any of it? Or was she to be spend the rest of her life comparing every boy who came along with James, and lamenting over the fact that they didn't kiss half as well, that she never felt the same thing with them as she did with him?

And then the thought struck her someone had hit her over the back of her head, when the dormitory had grown so quiet it was almost eerie; what was she supposed to do if that was the only shot she got? How was she supposed to get on with things if she would never feel like that again?

For one fleeting second, she wondered if James was the only person in the world who knew how to kiss. What was she supposed to do if no one could make her feel the same thing? Because she had had a taste of it now, and it hit her that there was no going back. She had to have it - the racing heart, the tingling feeling. She needed to be breathless and unable to relax. She needed to feel alive.

And she couldn't go back to dry, boring monotony with some other boy who didn't burn her skin when he touched her.

She gulped at the memory, burying her face in her pillow. She shouldn't be thinking about that - she could feel the gentle tugs at her frail heart, and when she closed her eyes and imagined it, it was like she suffered a blow to the chest with each memory.

Because they were too much, they overwhelmed her - there was so much pain, mingled with the complete bliss and exhilaration from the moment, it was so unbearable to think about. Her chest ached.

But somehow, that didn't stop her thinking about it.

She bit her lip, and she spent hours running over every little detail in spite of herself. Eventually she drifted, with a vague hope that maybe it would get better. Maybe the feeling would grow on her.

XXX

It didn't. As the days passed, it became clear that it would never be the same. Andrew never pushed her, never tried. He always waited for her, and she grew so exasperated after a few minutes. She _wanted _him to push her. She wanted to have her limits tested.

But that wasn't all - she wanted to not think. She wanted to feel like nothing could go wrong in the world, because there was nothing but the two of them in the world. But it became clear that that wasn't going to happen. It seemed that what she wanted had been a few stolen pieces from something that she wasn't supposed to have. And she wanted it - badly.

Andrew was more interested in getting along with her friends than kissing her properly - the only right way to kiss a girl. And it was those kind of thoughts that she was following during dinner the following Monday. She was silently admonishing herself - if she believed that _he _was only ever going to kiss her properly, then that was how it would happen. She didn't need her toes to curl and her brain to stop functioning.

At least Andrew treated her better, if she left the way he kissed her (lifelessly, as she reminded herself) aside. But she _couldn't, _she found. And she didn't quite understand it - if anybody had asked her a few months ago how important kissing was, she would have maintained that how much you liked the person was far more important.

_But they're connected, aren't they? _said a small voice. _Can't have one without the other. _

She smiled at Andrew placidly, barely registering that he had just made a joke. _Why _was it that he never grabbed her hand and pulled her off someplace quiet, never caught her off guard, never whisked her away when she least expected it? What was she supposed to do - close her eyes and pretend it was James she was sitting with, James kissing her?

Anna snapped her fingers in front of Charlie's face, and it was like a wake-up call. She had to get over this - she needed desperately to move on from this. Because if she wallowed like this much longer, she would drive herself crazy.

She couldn't have him, and she couldn't possibly want him after everything, and that was the end of it. Whatever it was.

And it wasn't like she wasn't trying, of course she was, she was trying harder than she'd ever tried at anything. So how long was it going to take before she stopped thinking about him whenever she had a moment to spare, before she stopped feeling this hole in her chest where her heart had been ripped out? When did she stop caring, when did she stop feeling this void he'd left behind?

And when, in the name of Merlin, would she stop feeling so miserable?

Andrew was nice, and they had a lot in common, and he smiled at her in a way that was surely intended to make her feel at home. And he was never ashamed of her, he treated her as best he could. But it was too much - it was becoming increasingly irksome, the way that he would hold doors open for her, pull out chairs for her.

She knew she was making a bad comparison - once again.

But there were two different kinds of chivalrous, and those pointless, irritating one that Andrew was employing - it was boring and more aggravating than anything else, and horrendously overrated. She didn't need to be treated like a princess.

She just wanted to be treated honestly. But it wasn't the way he was treating her that was the problem. It was _who _was going to treat her honestly. And he had done, she kept thinking, for those precious few weeks. He'd been more honest than she'd ever seen, than she could have thought possible.

It had been so natural. And there, in one word, was the problem. There was nothing natural about her and Andrew, about how they acted, how she felt. She knew - because, heart-wrenchingly, she knew that she had experienced it - that it was supposed to be effortless, seamless, like second nature. It was meant to be something that they slipped into as easily as breathing, like they were built to be doing it the whole time.

And it wasn't. Andrew stood up and held out of his hand to escort her to class (escort _was _the only word for it, and she was alarmed at how annoying she found it) and it was all so contrived and - forced.

And yet, she took his hand without a word. "I suppose we'd better go to practice," he said with a wistful sigh, and Charlie bit back her retort. It wasn't as if this was a great personal sacrifice - they had hardly been in the middle of something dreadfully important.

But it was clear that Andrew would like to make out that they _had _been, so she said nothing.

She focused on Andrew's words a lot more than she would have done normally once they were in the changing room; she was determined to keep her eyes fixed on his face, studying the way his muscles moved when he talked. She was determined not to be distracted.

"And of course, Dad wanted to live somewhere where we could play Quidditch," he was saying now, and Charlie was nodding her head, for something to do. "But I suppose I'm the only one who really likes it, and of course, that annoys him to -"

He cut off suddenly, staring at Charlie. "What's wrong?" she said quickly.

"You okay?" he asked, and Charlie froze. His tone was . . . _odd. _Like he knew she wasn't, and he had already resigned himself to that fact. Charlie bit her lip for a second, wondering what it was that Andrew could see.

"Of course, why?" she said briskly, ducking her head to put on her boots and letting her dark hair to fall over her face.

"You just looked really petrified for a second," came his muffled reply. She wasn't petrified - that was rigidity, that was her trying so hard to train her eyes to him.

She shrugged. "Well, it's cold," she said, and as she tied up her hair she flashed him a brilliant smile.

She was just lucky that he hadn't been paying attention to how badly she was playing. She was trying so hard, and the cool air allowed her to believe for a few minutes that the only thing in the world was the Quaffle flying towards her.

But it did nothing to help how she played. And by the time the team touched down, all of them were in low spirits. She met James' eyes for a fraction of a second, but he seemed to have nothing to say to any of them.

And when she turned back to Andrew, she could have sworn there was something accusing in his expression, and it was with a pang of guilt and a twinge of familiar sadness that she took his hand so they could walk back to the castle.

Not knowing what else to do, she drowned herself in study over the next few weeks, hoping that by the time she emerged, everything else would have faded away.

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Much happier with the pace of this chapter, yay! Thanks for reading. Please review, I'd really love to know how I'm doing, and it's getting quite confusing!


	30. Indispensable

It really feels like forever since I've even looked at this storyline, I've been so busy planning other fics! But I thought I could do with a break, so here it is! I don't own Harry Potter or any of Jo's marvellous world, and watch out for swear words, I guess. Happy reading!

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**Indispensable**

If you had ever told him that James would walk away from the Quidditch pitch feeling worse than he did, he wouldn't have believed it. Quidditch was one of the most important things in his life, and it had always been a way of _forgetting _his problems, not increasing them.

And though he tried to focus, by the time he was trudging back to the castle, by himself, his head was spinning, and his heart was heaving with dejection and the doubt that they would even get through their next game. After all, one more game and they were through to the final, and it seemed like a much more impossible goal than it had done at the start of the year.

That being said, it was _he _that was different - no wonder Quidditch seemed to out of reach now.

He wondered how quickly it had happened - how quickly she had reverted to him. It seemed only the other day that she was smiling up at him, and he was feeling the air leave his lungs at the sight of the sparkle in her eyes. But it _wasn't _the other day, and he hadn't been talking to her in a few days, and that practice was the first one that Andrew and Charlie had turned up, together, hands linked.

And James had felt like the air had been cut off from his lungs. He had known that she was angry at him - and there were times when he could hardly blame her - but he had never expected _this. _Was she really that angry? Or did she really like Andrew all of a sudden, had he finally won her around?

And he had to admit that if the roles were reversed, he would have jumped on the chance the moment Andrew had screwed up. So perhaps Charlie had reciprocated, and there was a small, logical part of his brain that was reminding him constantly that he couldn't blame her.

And no matter what her reasons were, it didn't make it any better. He didn't care about her motive, he still felt like he was suffocating just being around the pair of them. It hurt just as much.

But somewhere, in the ridiculously idealistic part of his head, James knew how she felt about Andrew, and it was very little. He couldn't ignore the idea, but he could very easily disregard the implausibility of the notion. He let himself believe that what she felt for Andrew was not a deep or passionate thing, like the one that had coursed through his veins whenever he saw her.

He knew, somehow. He had to know. He couldn't let himself think what she was letting on.

Though it seemed she was determined to prove otherwise; she smiled at Andrew and didn't seem to mind when he held her hand or kissed her cheek. But James saw the way her eyes flickered to him whenever she felt his own eyes on her. And it was a strange thing, but he didn't feel the same urge to punch Andrew in the face like he would have done normally.

He felt sort of hollow - and he could only stare blankly at the ground. And when he did catch her eye, he didn't glare or scowl - after a second, he would nod and turn his had away. If she wanted to date Andrew - for whatever reason - he would not, under any circumstances, try to stop her. He couldn't do that to her. That wasn't what she would want him to do, and she mattered more than putting what he wanted first, he supposed.

He wasn't angry. He was just hurt, and he couldn't bring himself to muster the energy to get angry at Andrew, or even at Charlie. It seemed a bit too hopeless to be worth the effort.

But it had been such a blow all the same. She hadn't told him. She hadn't even spoken to him. And it felt wrong, utterly wrong.

When he reached the castle, the light was stretching the evening, and the heat and humidity had somehow crept up to replace the bitter cold, and the stifling heat seemed to taunt him.

He didn't want to talk to his friends, or rather, for them to see how miserable he was - he was in a foul mood, and he knew damn well that he couldn't do anything to hide or disguise it. He considered picking a fight with the group of sixth years who looked like they should have been a wrestling team as he passed them, but decided against it.

What good would it do anyway?

The Great Hall was open for late snacks and if the library was overcrowded, and James spotted Albus sitting alone in the slowly emptying Hall, a book propped open against a jug of orange juice. He was focusing intently on it, an unassumingly pensive, somber expression on his face.

"Hi," said James tonelessly as he dumped his stuff and fell into the seat opposite his little brother. He slouched and rested his forehead against the cool surface of the table where there was a space, wondering if he would just stop thinking if he hit his head against the table hard enough.

Albus marked his place and laid the book aside, looking at James dubiously.

"Everything alright?" he said slowly.

"No," mumbled James to the plate of profiteroles beside his head.

Albus raised his eyebrows, and James let out a sigh. Not for the first time he thought of how much older than fourteen Albus seemed - his wise and thoughtful expression gave him years beyond his actual age. He seemed like he was so much wiser and more intelligent and thoughtful than James, even though James had two and a half years on him.

"I've fucked up," he admitted, not caring that it was to his younger brother he was talking.

And he expected Albus to roll his eyes and tell him to stop being so dramatic, that they all made mistakes. But Al threw him a grim, apologetic look.

"Yeah, they were in here earlier."

James raised his head, his features darkening. He despised the fact that Al didn't have to ask, he just seemed to know what was bothering James.

"It's not over," Al said pointedly. "Are you James Potter or aren't you?"

"I don't know," retorted James ironically. "Am I? Who am I?" he yelled dramatically to the ceiling, his hands raised like he was praying to the gods for an answer - or to be struck by lightning. A studious-looking Ravenclaw jumped and shrieked in surprise. James surprised himself when he snorted, and Al was smiling softly.

"James, I know you can fix this," Al said slowly, solemnly, after a minute.

James was shaking his head before he finished. "Nah, I can't. She seems to have moved on," he muttered bitterly.

Al let out a weary sigh. "James, those feelings don't just go away overnight, you know."

"Apparently they do," retorted James. Al didn't say anything else for a minute, he just looked at James piercingly, and he was reminded of the way their mother would stare the pair of them down sternly when she needed to.

James groaned, and rested his head against the table again.

Albus let James continue being caught up in his thoughts for a while, until he cleared his throat. "James?" he said slowly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," replied James glumly, staring into the jug of orange juice.

"When was your first kiss?" he said, and without looking at his little brother, James could hear the discomfort in his tone. And for a second, the illusion shattered - _he _was the big brother, that knew more and thought more wisely and had better advice and more pensive things to say.

"Why?" James said shrewdly, raising his eyebrows as he lifted his head, his interest piquing.

Albus shrugged and said nothing. James thought for a second - how strange it was that Charlie was what popped into his head, when he'd kissed her just before Christmas. _The first time he kissed her. __  
_

And no time before that seemed to hold any significance - that was all he could think about, all he could remember.

"Blimey, I can't remember, mate," James said, grimacing at Al.

"Really?" Al said chidingly, staring at James with an appalled look.

Astonished that he was still able to, he grinned at Albus. "It was a long time ago," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Still," replied Albus, looking at James like he was insane. "You'd think you'd remember. You only get one first kiss . . ."

James paused for a second, taking in the frown on Albus' face. "Nah, I don't really agree with you there," he said in a low voice, smiling.

Al threw him a puzzled look. James shrugged and got to his feet. "Oh, and squirt?" Al looked up at him. "Don't worry about it. Try not to think about it too much, and you'll be fine."

Albus held his eye for a second, before he grinned. "Thanks. I hope you sort it out."

"So do I," muttered James to himself as he nodded and headed down the table, but privately he didn't really see much point in even hoping.

Al was wrong - he couldn't fix this. And that was because he had never tried to fix anything before, because he had never cared before. And he had no clue how to fix this, the first time he had ever wanted to try and fix something he'd broken.

She was the one girl who had finally gotten under his skin. Other girls were dispensable - but not her.

XXX

"So."

"So?" she said, eyebrows raised. "That's all you've got?"

"Would you please just listen to me?" he begged, with another furtive glance over his shoulder.

"Andrew will be back any second," she said quickly, and James was pleased to hear how her voice quivered.

"Then listen quick," he suggested, chewing on his bottom lip. She stared up at him, and James wondered what she was able to see and read by simply looking at him. If she had taken anything away from his face, she didn't show it.

She shook her head, and dropped her gaze to the floor like it hurt to look at him, sort of like she was staring into a blinding light that she couldn't cope with anymore. "I can't trust you," she muttered, in an oddly thoughtful voice, as if her thoughts were simply unconsciously verbal. "How could I . . . "

"Do you have any idea how miserable I am?" he said bluntly.

She gave a small, mirthless chuckle. "I think I could imagine," she said dryly, and then threw him a strangely twisted smile. "Little boys shouldn't play pranks if they can't handle it."

"It wasn't a bloody -" He cut himself off when she threw him a skeptical look, and he gulped. The fear that she really wasn't ever going to believe him or forgive him set in, and he could see stars. "You know I'm better for you than he is," he said pointedly, simply to have something to say.

Her mouth fell open, and she advanced on him, her fists clenched at her sides. "Is that so?" she hissed scathingly. "Why don't you prove it? _He _hasn't tortured me for four years."

"I told you -" James began.

"No, I'm not finished," she said, with a dramatically exasperated sigh. "He didn't mess with my head all year. He does what he says, he says what he means, he doesn't play games. He treats me well. He isn't ashamed of me. He doesn't hide me away."

"I told you that I wouldn't," James croaked. "I told you I'd give you whatever you wanted and -"

"And you took it that what I wanted was to hear that the whole thing was a setup?" she snapped, her voice raising and full of venom. "The whole thing."

"It wasn't," he insisted pleadingly. "Of course it wasn't, you have to believe me." When she raised one eyebrow, he inclined his head. "Alright, granted, Fred thought it was, but that was about it. And it was nothing to me, he doesn't know how I feel -"

"That hardly makes it any better," she snapped. "What you're telling me is that it happened because you were too _scared," _she said, poking his chest on the word. "To tell your own friends."

He blinked down her, mouth agape. And before his eyes she seemed to shrink away like she had remembered herself, remembered that she didn't go around shouting at people in the Entrance Hall, that she didn't shout at anybody, ever.

"And _I - don't - believe - you,"_ she breathed, shaking her head and stumbling back to lean on the bookshelf as if she felt faint all of a sudden. James knew the feeling - it was like a wave of dizziness had over come him.

"Try," he begged, and when she bit her trembling lip and looked away, James couldn't help but swear and slam the book on his hand down on a nearby table. He had every right to be furious - she was just being difficult for the sake of it. She knew exactly what had happened - he had said enough, and if she paused to think about it for a second, she would realize that it wasn't his fault.

She would realize that he felt differently to how she thought he fault.

"You know, you're just being stubborn," he told her, folding his arms.

"Excuse me?" she squeaked with indignation, staring up at him.

"You know you've got it wrong," he pointed out. "You know that I'm telling the truth, and you just can't accept it, so you pretend you don't know."

Charlie huffed, sizing him up for a second. "You think you know everything, don't you?" she said in a loud voice, and James realized that he'd never heard her raise her voice so much; some started Slytherins glanced over apprehensively. He said nothing. "I'm finished, James," she said, near yelling now. "And what part of '_I've had enough' _is so incomprehensible to you?"

"Enough of what?" he bellowed, shooting a seething look at a pair of frightened-looking first years.

"Can you really not tell that I am _not _in the mood for this?"

"It doesn't really matter whether you're in the mood or not!" James bellowed. "This can't wait any longer."

"I don't know what 'this' is," she yelled back. "But I'm not doing this, not now, not ever."

"Why not?" James yelled.

Charlie went pale, and her face went oddly blank. "I just can't do it, James," she said, in a much quieter voice.

"I don't see why not," he said coldly, ignoring the familiar burst of adrenaline when she said his name.

"Because if you're too ashamed to even talk to your friends, then you're really not worth it," she said harshly, with more conviction than James really liked. "I thought you could stick it out. They tease _everybody, _but I really believed that it would hardly get to you. And besides," she said, her voice shaking. They'd have to come around eventually, right? It's not like you can't take it. I did, for for years." She paused, biting her lip. "And look where that got me," she added quietly, forcing a small, mirthless smile.

He sighed. "Charlie . . ."

She shook her head. "I don't really think anything means that much to you," she said, having regained her composure and the conviction in her voice. "Especially not me."

"Charlie, you have _no _idea what you mean to m-"

"They're just words," she said quickly, her voice rising again. "You can talk all you like, I won't listen until you show me."

He stared, and after a second, she nodded, taking that as his answer. "That's what I thought," she said, and it irked him to hear that she didn't sound as hurt as she should have sounded. "Besides, I've moved on, haven't I?" she added, a hint of irony seeping into her tone.

James couldn't help it, the way his features darkened or the way he glared at her. "Go back to Andrew then," he said coldly.

She frowned up at him, looking affronted. "Maybe I will," she snapped, turning on her heel.

"See you at practice," he called after her, with a mocking, strangled smile, though privately he was wondering how he was meant to handle another practice, let alone a whole string of practices.

"Whatever, James," she spat over her shoulder. And like that, she was gone.

XXX

It was, James supposed, lucky that Quidditch was so important to him. Gryffindor scraped past their semi-final, and the final was now looming almost as much as the exams. Since things had gone so terribly awry, it had become more important that they won the match, if that was even possible.

James could remember a day after their last match in his third year; he was discussing the game with his father. And he couldn't remember the details, but somewhere along the lines, his father had clamped a hand on his shoulder and said, "Don't worry, son, you'll get it eventually," or something to that effect.

And James didn't know why he had taken that so badly, but he remembered leaping up, kicking his chair aside and storming out. He'd gotten a very stern talking-to from his mother about it later on, but he'd hardly cared.

He was tired of not being good enough. For everybody, it seemed.

And there was only about six weeks left before his OWLs started, and though saying it out loud made it sound like they had forever, all of six weeks. But when he thought about it, it was a very short space of time. How was he meant to fix everything in those few weeks?

It wasn't like he was the only one becoming slightly panicked, but all the same, it wasn't entirely unheard of that in the last two months, James and his friends could be seen cracking a book, albeit with distaste.

He didn't know if it was the pressure of exams, but even Fred was acting oddly. James would catch him staring into space when he had been reading a book five seconds prior, or muttering to himself, and he was oddly quiet.

Michael, on the other hand, had a different way of dealing with things. He was loud and ruder than usual, and he picked on everyone more than usual. On the days where he found himself more agitated, James joined in. And it felt like months ago, when all he'd had to worry about was his reputation.

It was incredibly easy, especially when he came back from Quidditch practice, red in the face. He was going out of his mind. It was nearing the end of April, and they were sitting in the Great Hall. The lights were dimmed low, and Max had his head down on the table, buried in his arms, issuing a soft snore every once and again. That was how Max got rid of stress - he slept it off.

"Has Lily been bugging you as much as Roxy's been bugging me?" Fred asked, scowling across at James over his pudding.

He nodded. "I had to stop replying to Mum, she was nagging me so much," he muttered. "So now she's doing it through Lily."

"Yeah, well at least Lily's not as annoying as Roxy," Fred shot back, spraying everyone within the vicinity with crumbs.

"Wanna bet?" retorted James darkly. "I'll trade you."

Fred eyed him up and down for a second, and then snorted as he shook his head and returned to his pudding. "Nah, not a chance, mate."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," said James.

"So are we going to the party this year?" Michael asked dazedly, blinking around at them. James felt his stomach twist. He didn't know of a single household that didn't celebrate the end of the Dark Lord without a party, and Hogwarts was no exception. But once he glanced up the table, he knew he wouldn't be going this year.

What was the point, really?

He spent the next few days putting up a spectacular masquerade of not noticing, pretending to be his old self, a person who was bothered by very little. But he supposed he underestimated the people around him, who could see his distress better than he could see it himself.

Fred put it down to either the stress of the exams, or Quidditch, one day in Herbology.

"I think you need to get some more sleep, mate," he said dubiously, his eyes lingering on the dark circles under his eyes.

"I'm fine," protested James quickly.

"Blimey, James, it's only a game of Quidditch," said Fred then, scoffing. "It's not that important, is it?"

"Yes, it is," James snapped, as the pair of them prepared to tackle a Snargaluff Pod again. "It is."

"Why?" demanded Fred. Immediately, a half-formed idea sprung to mind, which had something to do with Andrew and Charlie, he knew. But even _he _didn't quite know how the pair of them fitted in with his increased motivation, so he held his tongue.

"That's what I thought," said Fred coolly. "Snap out of it."

"Snap out of what?"

"You're acting really sullen," Fred told him. "And we're all stressed enough, cut it out."

James rolled his eyebrows. "I'm fine," he said again, not looking at Fred. Yes, he was doing a fine job of acting like he didn't care about a thing in the world. But Fred could see through him apparently. James didn't actually think Fred knew much - James actually thought that Fred was just clutching at thin air. He didn't really know, nor did he suspect. _Charlie _might have been able to read him like an open book, but very few other people could, and Fred wasn't one of them. Perhaps Lily or Max had said something to him.

"Look, this isn't about . . . Whatever happened with her, is it?"

"What are you talking about?" said James tonelessly, feeling his stomach convulse. Fred shrugged.

"I know she's pissed, mate," he said. "But it's not like it's the first time somebody got offended."

"It's not like that at all."

"Well, then, what is it? I really don't get why you care, mate," Fred said, with a hint of frustration sinking in. "I really don't."

"Well, I _do _care," said James quietly, frowning in thought.

"But _why?" _pressed Fred. "What even happened?"

James sighed, and there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they had both given up on their Pod. "I don't know," he muttered, raking his fingers through his messy hair.

Fred gaped at him for a second. "Well?"

James couldn't lie, not outright at least. He wasn't going to say that she meant nothing, when really, she sort of meant everything. They didn't get it, and he wasn't about to tell them, any of them. He'd just suffer in silence.

"What, do you feel guilty?" Fred asked in bewilderment.

James snapped. "I feel _angry, _Fred," he spat, glaring.

Fred blinked. "Angry?" he repeated, looking sure that he'd misheard.

"Yes," said James quickly. "You had to go and mess everything up, and look what happened."

Fred narrowed his eyes. "I don't really know what you're getting at, James," he said cuttingly. And when James said nothing, he went on. "You said it yourself, she was delusional and all that. I remember you telling me she was practically a Muggle."

"Things change," grunted James. "_You're _the bloody delusional ones. Things change," he said again, frowning to himself.

"So things have changed, have they?" asked Fred, and without looking at him, James could hear the smirk in his tone.

"Yeah, they had," James said sharply. "And then they changed again, when you decided to set me up."

Fred stared for a second, and then shrugged his shoulders. James saw stars - he didn't think for a second that Fred had deliberately done anything damaging, but here he was, acting like he knew exactly what James was talking about. And he wasn't denying it.

"Someone had to do something," Fred said coldly. "We didn't know what was wrong with you."

The odd thing was that James could muster up no more anger for Fred. In fact, once he said that, all his anger seemed to evaporate, like his little outburst had drained it out of him. Because really, it was himself who was to blame. He had let the whole thing go on and go awry. If he had been honest with _himself _from the start, this whole thing would have been a lot easier.

And how could he possibly blame Fred for a mess that he had gotten himself into?

He sighed. "I don't know what was wrong with me, either," he said eventually.

Fred shook his head, looking slightly encouraged. "And we were laughing at her and that idiot the other day, you seemed fine." This was true - James had pretended the sight of those two was pretty hilarious - since in a way it was, and he would have thought it profoundly hilarious a year ago, and what else could he do? Glower at the pair of them and then sob about his feelings?

"It's just . . . It's complicated," he came out with. "I have to see them both at practice, and it's not like it's made it any easier."

"Ah," said Fred, nodding knowingly. "Well, that explains it."

He seemed satisfied by that. The only thought in James' head was how decidedly _not _funny the idea of Charlie and Andrew as a _couple _was. But of course he wasn't about to voice that to Fred, who seemed to assume that James was just worried about his Quidditch team.

But in fact, for once, his Quidditch team _wasn't _worrying him. His worry was her, and what the bloody hell he was supposed to do without her.

The final was coming up shortly, and James was beginning to feel the whole ordeal take its toll on him, as was evident. In the days leading up to the match, he was faced with a stony silence from Fred, from Charlie, from Andrew.

The only time she had even spoken to him is during one of their last matches. She'd walked in, and without really thinking or remembering that she was ignoring him, he nodded his head, and muttered, "Charlotte."

And she'd glared at him so ferociously he nearly recoiled in alarm. "Let's not go back there, shall we?"

That was the only thing she said to him, and he had to admit, it annoyed him more than anything else. He knew that she knew the truth deep down. And he was sure of this because she could always read him - she could tell exactly what was running through his head by looking at his face. And he knew that there was no lie in his face, and she could see that.

And he didn't understand why she was just being stubborn for the sake of it.

Because there was no way that she actually believed that this was over, that there was suddenly nothing there. He'd even heard that she'd let Andrew take her to the Victory Party - although he hadn't heard any details, as for the first time, he hadn't attended it himself. But that seemed to be the last straw for him.

She had nothing with Andrew - James knew there was no spark, he could see that much. And he saw how awestruck Andrew seemed to be whenever he was with her, how he seemed to hardly believe what was happening. But he didn't know what he was doing.

And James got it into his head over the next couple of days that she was with Andrew because she didn't want to be with _him, _she just wanted to be with someone who was as completely different to him as possible.

And it was strange to see everybody freaking out about the OWLs. Granted, they seemed a lot much closer from this side of the Easter break, and they were looming down on everybody. No one could escape these exams breathing down their necks. And bizarre as it was, he was stressed to breaking point but at the same time they seemed far less important than they had ever seen before.

Even Fred was buckling under the pressure, which was good for James, who didn't have to deal with any more of Fred trying to drag something else out of him. The only one who ever brought it up anymore was Max, and whenever he did, James studiously ignored it, pretending to be deeply immersed in the nearest books.

But even still, Max got through to him on some level, and all he could think about was how he couldn't leave it like this. She may have wanted nothing more to do with him - a daunting prospect, but something he might have to face.

And maybe he couldn't get her back, maybe she didn't want him anymore, and maybe he would just have to get used to the idea, if he could. But it got into his head that he had to at least fix it. He didn't think he could bear for there to be any animosity there. He couldn't leave this on bad terms. And once that thought had set it, it didn't let go of its iron grasp on him. He was determined to at least put it right, no matter what would come of it.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Ladies and gentlemen, I promise, your patience is soon to be rewarded. Please review!


	31. Fire and Flame

I do not own Harry Potter! Expect a good lot of swearing in this, because they're both frustrated little devils, aren't they? I'm really sorry that my updates have become slightly lax lately. What can I say, I actually have a life now. I think this was my hardest chapter to write, I don't know what was wrong with me! So I'm sorry for the long wait, I don't know why this was so hard. Anyway, I think that's all, happy reading!

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**Fire and Flame**

The week leading up to the final was painful. Practices had been bumped up to every day this week, which was torturous enough. Charlie knew that Andrew was getting suspicious, because the only time she wasn't extremely quiet was before and after training, which was because she had a point to prove.

She should have known that that was going to backfire eventually. Ever since the party, which had been a disaster in its own right, she should have known what was coming. Things were different from that night, and Charlie should have known that she couldn't keep pretending like nothing was wrong. It would blow up on her eventually, and it did.

Charlie was taking her time gathering up her things after training, since she didn't like to give_ him_ much of an opportunity to talk to her. Andrew, however, was waiting fitfully at her side, clicking his tongue with impatience.

Charlie blinked up at him, and when she saw his expression, her face faltered. "Something wrong?" she prodded.

Andrew stared at her coldly for a few seconds. "I'm not sure," he said eventually.

Charlie raised her eyebrows, feeling a flicker of annoyance. "Well," she said briskly. "If you ever make up your mind, let me know." She turned back to her things, feeling affronted and put out.

He left in an awful hurry without her, so Charlie trudged back to the castle by herself, and instead of heading back to the common room, she went to the library, where she found Talia and Briony sitting closely with their heads together, and opposite them, Anna was resting her chin in her hand and gawping blankly at the pair of them.

Charlie sat down beside Anna, who jumped and wiped some drool away absentmindedly, and once Charlie immediately drew the nearest book towards her, she scowled and snatched the book from Charlie's hands.

"Not again, Charlie," she reprimanded, shaking her head.

"What did I do?" Charlie protested, reaching for the book.

"You're going to go bury your head in that book so far you'll come out the other end," Anna said brusquely, ignoring Charlie's quizzical look. "I won't have it, you can't use study to distract yourself from everything else."

"Yes, I can," muttered Charlie.

"Well, it's not working," Anna snapped, and Talia looked up and laid a hand on top of Charlie's sympathetically.

"Charlie, look, you really helped me out when I needed it," she said, a faint pink tinge appearing in her cheeks. "So would you please just listen to us? Cut it out."

"Just because I want to do well," Charlie began, but Anna's snort cut her off.

"Oh, please, Charlie," she said, with a derisive laugh. "That's not why you're studying so much. And it's not even going on, you're just wasting my time so you don't have to think about it."

Talia and Briony's face at the word 'it', because even though no one had specifically said what they were all talking about, they all just knew. Charlie studied their faces for a minute; the three pairs of eyes were focused intently on her, and she broke.

She let out a deep sigh, biting her lip to hold back the tears that stung the backs of her eyes, and she looked at the table, folding her arms in front of her. "I just want to forget for a while," she admitted quietly.

"And since when did that fix anything?" Anna shot at her, more venomously than she really should have. Charlie caught the reproachful look that Briony threw Anna, but Anna pretended she didn't see it.

Charlie opened her mouth to say something, and thought better of it. She didn't know what she could say to Anna to make her understand. "You know," she said instead, in a clipped tone. "I did actually pass our last test."

Anna looked at her coldly. "Big deal," she said shortly. "You only barely passed, and it's not because you spent so much time studying."

"I worked hard for that!" Charlie yelped in indignation, and Briony looked anguished.

"She _did _work very hard for it," she said to Anna, who rolled her eyes.

"Just let her study," said Talia forcefully, as she got to her feet. Charlie breathed out a sigh of relief at Talia's expression, and she felt such a rush of love and gratitude for the girl that she almost felt lightheaded. She didn't know why Anna was being so spiteful about any of this anyway.

Briony stood up too, staring between the two left sitting with a wary expression. "Well, we're going to go up the common room," she announced. Anna nodded, and Charlie forced a smile. They left in an awful hurry, glancing over their shoulders at Anna and Charlie. They seemed to be looking at Charlie as if they were very sorry for doing this to her.

Anna clicked her tongue. "I'm glad their friends again."

"Me too," said Charlie, letting out a breath of relief. "Although Talia really didn't want to just be her friend."

"I know," said Anna sadly. "But we can't always get what we want. You know that, don't you, Charlie?"

"Of course," Charlie muttered, but Anna went on staring at her disbelievingly, until Charlie flushed bright red. "I'm just worried," she admitted.

"About what?" said Anna, in a much softer voice than before.

"What if I never want anything different again?" said Charlie. Anna looked at her for a few minutes.

"You will," she said eventually.

"But what if I don't?" Charlie countered.

"You'll get over it," Anna said with conviction. "I know you will. You can't pine after him for your whole life."

"I just ..."

"You're just hurting, I know," said Anna soothingly. "That doesn't mean he'll be all you ever want."

Charlie said nothing, and even smiled, allowing Anna to think she had done her job in reassuring her. But now she felt more confused than before, and less reassured than she had been. She didn't Anna at the start, and she was believing her words less and less. Anna was wrong. She didn't think she'd ever want anything different again.

XXX

The sound rang to signal another goal for Ravenclaw, and Charlie felt like driving her broom into one of the nearby posts. It was raining so hard she could barely see in front of her face, and all around her, all she knew was that everyone was barely managing to stay on their brooms. It felt like the whole world was tumbling away, and several times, Charlie snapped herself back to reality only to ask herself what on earth she was doing in the middle of a Quidditch match.

She was going out of her head. She should have known, she thought desperately, as she for once caught for the Quaffle by the skin of her fingertips, that she wouldn't be able to handle this. If everyone else was struggling a little, then her world was going up in flames.

Because he was so close, and they could all taste the victory on the tips of their tongues. And she hadn't been prepared for this feeling of longing. She should have known it would be there - she knew how much he needed to win this, and she should have realized that such a desperation would evoke a similar emotion in her. But she didn't realize that and she didn't know what was going on, and all that was happening was that she was crumbling, maybe even suffocating, and nobody was noticing. The world was a blur, inconsistent, terrifying.

The next thing she knew, someone had called a timeout, and she sped to the ground where the rest of the team were landing, her boots squelching as she landed in the mud.

"What's going on?" she demanded, as James landed near enough to her, and to her surprise, he threw away his broom and grabbed her wrist.

"Charlie, I have to talk to you," he said, his words so panicked they were tumbling over each other. He was panting for breath, his hair was saturated and sticking to his forehead. His Quidditch robes were spattered with mud, and his expression looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.

"Now?" she yelped, attempting feebly to tug her hand away.

He nodded, staring at her intently. "This can't wait, it _can't."_

Charlie gaped, glancing around her despairingly. "It's going to have to, James," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. Her heart was starting to thump, and she was suddenly very aware of the thousands of eyes staring down at the tiny figures on the pitch. And she knew that the team were gazing at them confusedly, as of course, it appeared James was the one who called the timeout.

But she didn't care that they were murmuring amongst themselves; he was staring down at her intently, his face so pained and terrified, Charlie felt her heartbreak. "James, we're in the middle of a game," she reminded him, but he was shaking his head before the end.

"Well, I can barely concentrate as it is," he said quickly, blinking as the raindrops hit his face. "I can't do this. I can't even play. Charlie, I'm so sorry."

Charlie blinked, turning her broom over in her hands. She could hear muttering break out in the audience. "James, what are you doing?"

He didn't answer her. "You have to know," he said instead, and when he placed his hands on her shoulders, she felt like her knees were going to buckle, and they felt so heavy on her skin. "I never meant for you to get hurt," he insisted, and her heart stopped in the middle of its incessant, rapid hammering.

"James, is really the best time?" she said weakly, and in spite of herself she half-smiled up at him.

"This is the only time," James replied. "I can't focus on a bloody game of Quidditch. All I could think was..." He trailed off, and Charlie waited, biting her lip. "I never meant for it to blow up like that," he said slowly, staring at the mud squelching below their feet. "Even the thought it, it's killing me." Charlie pressed her lips together, glancing around at the other team members. She looked back at him and swallowed, and he seemed to realize with a jolt that he didn't have forever, and when he spoke again, his words were spilling from his mouth so fast they were tumbling over each other, and she had to concentrate hard just to keep up, which was an achievement in itself.

"I never tried to set you up, you must know that. Fred, he set _me _up," he said desperately.

"James, we've got a match -" she started.

"I don't care about the match!" he cut across her fervently, and Charlie stopped abruptly. They were both silent for a minute, while she stared at him in alarm, her eyes wide and her breath hitching. The full weight of what he'd just said seemed to hit her like a ton of bricks, because there was nothing - _not one thing _- that James Potter cared more about than Quidditch.

"James," she croaked.

He shook his head, and it seemed to hit him what he had just said too. "I mean it," he insisted, and Charlie could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "I couldn't care less about this match, Charlie. If you could just believe me, that's all that matters. I swear. And I can't play, not when all I can think about is you. I can't play without knowing that you at least believe me. And I don't care if we lose, we can't win. I can't."

"We can, James," Charlie found herself saying, in a small voice. "Of course we can." He was shaking his head, and Charlie felt her heart shatter into a million pieces at the defeated look on his face. She'd never seen it before. And she found herself tugging at his sleeve, begging him silently to at least look at her. "Of course we can. I know you can. You always think the worst of yourself," she muttered, wiping her drenched hair from her forehead with difficulty. "You don't even realize that I can see the best of you." He looked down at her, and she saw the astonishment register across his face.

They both waited, and for the smallest second, the crowds seemed to fade away into the distance. Charlie couldn't hear anything for a second, not the screaming crowds, or Grace yelling at the pair of them to get a move on. She was seeing stars, and she felt dizzy on her feet. She could barely look at him, and yet she couldn't see anything else. She couldn't see the outraged expressions from the crowds, she could only barely see Andrew staring at the two of them like he'd been petrified.

James was staring at her intently, and she felt her cheeks flush under his piercing gaze. He swallowed, and Charlie smiled softly. "I believe you," she choked out hoarsely. "I do."

She wasn't going to pretend that it didn't hurt to see the complete shock on his face, and she realized that, as hard as it was for her to have believed him, it was even harder for him to believe she'd changed her mind. No matter how easily she could read him, she hadn't known that he'd hurt that much.

Grace marched forward, her hands on her hips. "Look, I hate to break up your little moment," she said, a little more venomously than was necessary. Charlie looked around in surprise. "But we have a game to play here, can you have your little epiphany later?"

She scowled at the pair of them, pursing her lips, and feeling her cheeks flush, Charlie turned her broom over in her hands, bowing her head to avoid getting more rain on her face. It was starting to hammer even harder now, and after a few minutes, the whistle sounded to signal the end of the timeout.

Disorientated, Charlie got back on her broom and sped back to the goalposts, but now it was worse than ever. She was struggling to steady her breathing, and even though there was a Quaffle flying towards her every few seconds, she could barely focus on where she was.

She couldn't see past the density of the rain, and even still, it was James her eyes were looking for, it was all she could concentrate on. She couldn't hear the crowd cheering or the other team scoring over his words echoing in her head.

It was so chaotic, the whole world was flashing past in a blur. When he flew near enough to goalposts, her eyes followed him, and she knew from one glance that he was struggling just as much as she was, if not more. And she could barely get the air into her lungs; he must have been in hell.

And it seemed to get only worse from there - they were trailing far behind, because the other team had taken advantage of the cracks now appearing in the Gryffindor team, and they pummeled the Quaffle in her direction every chance they get.

She was not entirely to blame - it seemed that her disorientation was contagious, and the Chasers now barely knew what to do with themselves. Once, she made out Andrew's shadowy figure, hanging limply in the air, not even remotely interested in the match. But she couldn't see anything past his silhouette, and not long after, she found that her eyes were trailing after the set of robes that read 'Potter', not 'Wood'.

In fact, she didn't even know how she'd missed it, but she heard a roaring outcry from the crowd, and so many people let out a gasp that it could be heard collectively even up at the goalposts. And she wheeled around to see players in all assortments of robes zig-zagging for the ground, and she followed suit. Her ears strained to hear what the commentator was saying, but she couldn't make it out over the dull buzzing in her ears.

She hadn't seen it, but it was like she had almost sensed the Bludger crack into James' arm, seconds after his fingers had enclosed around the tiny Snitch, which was still fighting for its freedom. She felt like her heart had been ripped from her chest as she landed; the world was spinning and the rain was thundering harder than ever. She was dizzy, she was confused, but more than anything, she was scared stiff, and found herself sprinting to where the team were congregating. And once she was near enough, unthinkingly she threw her broom aside and grabbed his face in her hands, waiting for his dazed and feverish eyes to focus in on her.

"Are you okay?" she said frantically, alarmed by the far off look in his eyes.

But he grinned at her crookedly. "Never better," he mumbled. And she could breathe again.

XXX

It was only slightly alarming to Charlie how quickly her anger appeared to have evaporated. She had known, very deep down, that it wouldn't last forever, but with a few well-chosen words, it was gone, just like that. The unfortunate thing about the whole thing was, no matter how she felt, someone was going to get hurt.

She had been expecting it from the moment her feet had hit the ground after the match. She had seen Andrew's face when James let go of her, the slightly sickened expression. And she was just waiting for the bomb to drop. He could have really made things hard for her - called her out, done it in front of everybody. But he didn't.

She didn't know why - perhaps out of decency, perhaps because he didn't want to give James the satisfaction.

But it happened, later that night. There was no big celebration - even though James had miraculously caught the Snitch, Gryffindor were still down by goal difference, and had lost the cup. Charlie understood - he had just wanted it to end, as much as she had. And it would have been him she was sitting across from - except she had remembered that she did have a boyfriend to deal with. And besides, James had been taken down to the hospital wing, once it was clear that he'd hit his head pretty hard when he fell.

And even still, there was an atmosphere of joy around the place for Gryffindors. Maybe it was because it had been such a personal victory for her, she could have been imagining it. But she saw smiles everywhere she looked; everybody seemed to be somewhat triumphant about the events at the match, or at least satisfied.

She found Andrew in the library, reading over some old Charms notes from third year. She sat down, and he smiled up at her, though she could see the sadness woven into it.

"Are you going to see him?" he asked, and slowly she nodded.

"I was just on my way down," she said quietly, chewing on her lip. "Andrew, I ..."

"It's fine," he said quickly, before she could even begin. "I get it. I think we both know what it is you really want," he said tonelessly, staring very hard at a scribble etched into the table. "And it's not me. It was never me." He looked at her dejectedly, and though he was forcing himself to remain calm, Charlie could sense his undiluted anger, and she recoiled ever so slightly, afraid that he could explode.

Charlie let out a sigh. What was she supposed to do? Apologize? It seemed entirely wrong - it seemed like it would only add insult to injury.

"I don't like him, Charlotte," he went on, and it had been so long that anyone had called her by her full name that she blinked in surprise, barely able to register what he'd said. "Don't be with him. Be with me," he pleaded.

Charlie opened her mouth to speak, and shut it again, quite a few times. "I can't," she forced out eventually. "I can't."

"Try," he implored. "You'll regret this, Charlie."

His words hit home that time, and she could do nothing to stop the small, silly smile spreading across her lips. "I won't," she said softly. "I know I won't."

"You will," he retorted quickly, reaching across and grabbing her wrist. Her eyes widened; his grip was very strong, very forceful, though she did nothing to try and pry her hand away. "I'll make sure you will."

Charlie gaped at him in shock for a few seconds, and when his grasp slackened, she calmly eased her hand away, and got to her feet. "Don't talk like that, Andrew, it doesn't suit you."

"_He _talks like that," Andrew shot back bitterly.

"No, he doesn't," Charlie snapped. "You don't ... You don't..."

"This isn't over," he muttered, and it seemed like it was more to himself than it was to her.

But Charlie couldn't wait there a moment longer; she shook her head and said no more, before she turned on her heel and left him behind.

Waiting outside the hospital wing was a torturous burden, and she grew more anxious by the second. She didn't want to go in and disturb whoever was there, but she was going out of her head just loitering outside the door. All she had to do was go over her conversation with Andrew. It had gone more dismally than she had been expecting, and her stomach had tied itself into tight, painful knots of worry that only tightened as she waited.

Eventually, James emerged, scowling over his shoulder as he did. He stopped short when he saw her, and Charlie smiled. All her worries seemed to melt away, and a second later, it was like they had never existed in the first place.

"All better?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

He nodded, his hand jumping to the back of his head. "Yeah, good as new," he said quietly. "They still maintain that I should be tested for insanity, but apart from that ..."

"Hmm, I think I might have to agree with them on that one," Charlie replied wryly.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "One bump on the head, and suddenly you've gone berserk," he muttered, grinning crookedly.

She let out a laugh and pushed herself off the wall. "Oh honey, it isn't suddenly," she told him coolly, patting his shoulder.

He scowled down at her. "I'm just as sane as you are."

"Debatable," she replied, shrugging one shoulder. "How's the arm?"

"Fine," he said. "Just fine."

"Good," Charlie said promptly. "So you can come for a walk then."

He raised one eyebrow cautiously, his face angled away from her. "Don't you think Andrew will mind?"

Charlie grimaced. "I very much doubt he'll mind anymore," she said thoughtfully, and though this was half a lie, he seemed to brighten considerably, and that was worth it enough. They walked for about half an hour in silence, and Charlie was surprised how easy it was. She was watching the ground pass beneath her feet, choosing over her words carefully.

Every time she looked up, ready to finally say something, James looked like he was on the verge of speaking too, and she'd shut up, smiling to herself. It seemed wrong to just burst into a long and wearisome intimate conversation. Maybe it felt like too much to just start off with. Because that's what they were doing really, when she thought about it.

"I'm sorry about the match," she said eventually, looking around at him as they walked, and threw him an apologetic smile.

He let out a sigh. "Yeah, I am too," he said, chewing on his lip.

Charlie frowned, going back to looking at her feet. "Look, I love Quidditch," she said lightly. "But why does it . . . _worry _you so much?"

When she looked up, he had stopped walking, and slowly, she came to a halt too in the deserted corridor, waiting for him to speak.

He let out another deep sigh, thinking hard. "It's hard to explain. I know I do great in school and all that, but my parents know that I don't care," he said slowly, as if he was testing the waters to his own speech. "And ... You know, Al works really hard and Lily ... " He broke off, smiling fondly. "Lily is such a sweet person. And I guess I just felt like I had to be as good as them," he said pensively, a small frown on his face.

Charlie's brow furrowed and she waited for more, because surely the great James Potter couldn't really feel that way. She made a derisive snort, smiling at him. "So what, everything you already do isn't good enough?"

"Not really, no," he said lightly, in a slightly mocking tone, and Charlie could see the teasing nature to his expression.

"That's just stupid, James," she remarked, folding her arms across her chest.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe it is. I just wanted to win. I had to."

"James, your parents just want you to be happy," she said, because that was what you were supposed to say when someone doubted their parents. But when she thought of her own family, and how wrapped up her mum and dad were in their own lives, she wondered how much truth was really behind that.

"It's not just my parents," he told her. "You wonder why I worry about my reputation, but . . . You don't know what it's like, trying to please everybody."

He leaned up against the wall as he spoke, and Charlie clenched her hands into fists at her side. "You think I don't?" she demanded. "You think I'm not trying to please my entire family? And failing, I might add," she said, with a little laugh, though when she looked back up at him, her eyes were sad. "You don't have to please everybody, James."

"I do," he retorted.

She shook her head. "No, James. You don't. You should work on pleasing _me, _though, if I matter so much," she said jokingly, nudging his arm.

"You do," he said quickly, and Charlie was waving her hand before he'd finished.

"I know," she said softly, leaning against the wall beside him. "I heard you."

It was silent for a few seconds, until James clicked his tongue, blinking in thought at the stone wall opposite them. "You said something," he muttered. "At the match. I didn't really know what you meant." Charlie threw him a quizzical look, and he went on: "You said I only saw the worst of myself. But that wasn't what you saw."

There was something in his expression that struck Charlie, and she realized with a jolt that all his bravado and cockiness was gone, stripped away to reveal an astounding vulnerability. He was looking at her warily, and it occurred to her that he was more apprehensive than he'd let on. He didn't know what to think about her, or any of it. He hadn't tried to touch her or say anything, because he really didn't know what to do.

She nodded slowly, tucking her bottom lip under her teeth as she thought. "Yes," she said quietly.

"What do you see?"

Sighing, Charlie pushed herself off the wall, tugged on his wrist until he stepped away from the wall too, and pulled his arms around her waist, noticing his hesitation. What was _wrong _with him?

"James, that was a _Quidditch match _you threw away," she said meaningfully. "Don't you think I know what that means?"

He frowned. "What does it mean?"

Charlie didn't have an answer for him. She didn't really understand herself why suddenly everything was forgiven. She knew when he was being honest when she saw it, and he had shown her exactly that. And he had seemed so desperate, begging her to understand. How could she not have believed him?

She buried her face in his shoulder, feeling lightheaded and dizzy, and inhaled deeply. Her heart tugged at the familiarity of his scent, at the tingles it sent through her skin, and it felt like she had been barely living without it. And he smelled the same way he always did, except that there was a strong smell of coffee on him. She wondered how she had even managed to exist without having him near her, without being able to hide her face away in his neck and allow her senses to take over. Because she had missed it desperately, this feeling she got when he held her, the way her heart seemed to fill up.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled again, and she shook her head, smiling up at him.

"No more apologies, okay?" she said weakly. He nodded, letting out a small laugh, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she felt a swooping sensation in her stomach, and her heart had started doing somersaults, and every inch of her skin was burning up, her breath hitching when his arms tightened around her.

She didn't realize how much she missed it, the feel of his soft lips, the pressure of his mouth on hers, the well-defined muscle under her fingers when she ran her hand down his arm and across his chest. She was clinging on to his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, when he lifted her right off her feet, grumbling about how she should grow a few inches.

She giggled, throwing her arms further around his neck. "What am I going to do with you, Potter?" she mumbled, and she could feel his triumphant smile against her lips as he placed a hundred glancing kisses on her mouth before he replied.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," he said lightly, setting her back on her feet and kissing her again. She could feel his fingertips trace down her arm like there was hot liquid trickling down her skin, leaving burn marks behind. He laced his fingers through hers, raising his eyebrows as he waited for an answer.

"Don't smirk like that," she said quickly, just as he began to walk again, tugging her along beside him. He let out a loud laugh at that, and it was relief that flooded through when she saw the genuine smile on his face. It felt weird to feel happy, instead of just feeling normal. But his smile was contagious, and caught on quickly. She felt happier than she'd done in weeks, and the only thing that made it any better was seeing the way he smiled at her, a brighter smile than she had seen it what had been too long a time.

* * *

There you go, look, I'll be nice for a little while. Thoughts are very appreciated, especially since I found this so difficult to churn out. Thanks for reading!


	32. To Tickle a Dragon

So. I am aware that it has been a very long time. Thought it was over, didn'tcha? I don't really have an explanation, I got caught up in stuff and I'm hoping to get finished before anything further happens to me, because I would hate for this to go unfinished for all eternity. Which reminds me: that's the end of fifth year. Which means that this is where I had originally planned to ... you know, end the fic.

I'm leaning towards continuation. I'm going to take a look at the feedback and stuff, and see where I go from there. This chapters covers a lot of time, so sorry about that. I hope it's not too hard to keep up. But on that note, sorry for the delay, and happy reading!

* * *

**To Tickle A Dragon**

He was standing, lounging in the door frame of the Great Hall, his eyes fixed on a small group of girls converged at the foot of the stairs. He was waiting for her.

The news that James Potter had a girlfriend for longer than three days spread like wildfire, and was greeted with an incredibly varied reaction. Quite a few of the lads outside his group that James would have been quite friendly with didn't seem to know whether to be chuffed or amused. Every time it came up, they'd throw him a sort of knowing smile, as if by pretending they'd know, they'd al understand what was really going through his head.

Fred hadn't said much to James about it - which was frankly more worrisome than if Fred had exploded. Michael had followed suit, and as the precious few weeks they had left wore on, he became increasingly anxious. It didn't help that Charlie simply refused to be around Fred or Michael. James didn't blame her, not as such, but it worried him. She had given _him_ a chance, what was so difference about his friends? They hadn't been nasty or rude, and James suspected this was because they knew how he'd take it. But they hadn't been anything to her. Not at all. They didn't want to be around her either, and every time James and Charlie were near each other, Fred and Michael had a strange tendency to wander off absently.

And that was only the beginning of their difficulties. Anna refused to spend time with Charlie if she was with James, and though he tried not to let it show because he could see how her face would crumple when he did allude to it, he felt the same way. He didn't want to be anywhere near Anna at all - and it was a constant weight on his chest that she held in her hands a bomb, a very small but powerful bomb, and when dropped, it would incinerate everything he was trying so hard to keep hold of.

But she was as silent as the grave in the weeks that followed. Occasionally, James would catch Anna throwing him an odd stare that he found oddly threatening, and it crossed his mind at least once a day that all she had to do was utter a few well-chosen words and the whole thing would fall to pieces. He was waiting for it. And while she was avoiding him, he was happy to do the same, so as to not give her a reason to say anything. He was trying to keep her happy by keeping her out of the way.

It went without saying that it seemed a complete impossibility that their _friends _would tolerate each other for the sake of the pair of them, so they didn't really get to do anything together in a group, studying out in the sunshine or sitting in the common room, passing around a Butterbeer. The weird thing was that James noticed this. He hadn't had it, so he couldn't miss it. But he almost felt like they should have been making an effort.

Briony and Talia - two girls whom James had always considered to be very understanding - were no more help either. They seemed a little upset that Charlie's time was divided so extremely. Between studying and James and her prefect duties, her spare hours were more and more limited with the exams approaching, and James knew, without either of them saying anything, that they felt he was to blame for that.

But didn't they realize that he barely got to see her either? It was near impossible, keeping everybody happy. He was staying when his friends when he could, because he knew that Fred would cause a fuss. And Charlie took the exams a lot more seriously that he'd thought.

He'd come with her to the library a few times, and occasionally they took their books outside so that they could study in the sunshine, with a balmy summer breeze keeping them cool. But they hadn't gotten very far. His heart swelled a little when he thought of it, of the way Charlie had laughed and whined that he was distracting her. But when she took the exams a little more seriously, she had insisted that they would have to leave snogging out of her study time, or she'd never get anything done.

She was right.

But that did create the problem that Charlie's - and not just Charlie's, everybody's - time was limited.

It didn't help that the weeks seemed to swallow themselves up with indecent haste, and before long the exams were breathing down their neck, and it wasn't just Charlie who was spending every spare second cramming, over breakfast, at dinner, while they were having conversations, while they were walking along the corridors.

James pretended it didn't annoy him how uptight she was getting. She didn't need to be upset, and he knew without her saying that she was worried about her Transfiguration exam. He would have offered to help, but they both knew it wouldn't do any good. They were both too equally distracted. He did what he could, letting her copy homework (his copied homework but he doubted she realized that) when she couldn't get to it because she was so busy revising, and he tolerated the time she poured into studying and revising, the long hours in the library and in silence.

It didn't really bother him that much, because it didn't feel wrong. The quietude wasn't wrong at all, and James didn't mind having nothing better to do that simply sit and watch her study, smiling to himself. It was almost natural. The whole thing was as easy as breathing, and he found himself turning over and over in his brain why they hadn't sorted all this out sooner.

But it appeared, he observed, as he stood watching Charlie reason with her friends, that not everything had been as sorted out as he thought. He watched Anna stomp her foot tempestuously, and over Charlie's shoulder she threw a dark look in his direction. Not at him, but just towards him, and he vaguely wondered what she could possibly have left to say.

Talia had turned her head to snap something at Anna now, who looked affronted and shocked, and he could see Briony stare at the floor, caught in the middle. Charlie had her back turned to him, but her shoulders were hunched and she was hugging her elbows, and he knew she was anguished enough without having to see her face.

Eventually, just as he was getting bored, shifting weight from feet to feet as he leaned in the doorframe, Talia laid a hand on Charlie's shoulder, throwing her a broad grin. Anna responded by staring at the pair of them and then waving her hand dismissively, turning around to go into a sulk.

He felt a nudge at his shoulder, and turned his head to see Max shoving his hands in his pockets, eyebrows raised. "You coming?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I'll be along in a minute. Just . . . " He nodded towards the group of girls before he turned in Max's direction.

"Right," said Max, grinning broadly. "How's it going?"

"Good," James replied, returning the grin. "Surprisingly good."

"I never thought I'd see the day," muttered Max, shaking his head.

James threw him a rueful smile. "Me neither." Charlie appeared at his side and slipped her hand into his, and when he turned his head to look down at her, she looked up at him with a strained smile.

"Hi, Max," she said on a breath out. "Can we go?" she muttered to James, who frowned.

"Sure," he muttered, casting a furtive glance at Max, who had narrowed his eyes. "I'll see you later." Max nodded, tipping two fingers towards them in a half-hearted salute, and he headed back into the Great Hall to speak to somebody else, and silently the pair headed out to Care of Magical Creatures.

"Are you okay?" James asked. She nodded. He raised his eyebrows skeptically at her, and after a few seconds silence, she looked up and saw his expression.

She shrugged one shoulder. "Just Anna. Giving me grief."

"As usual," James added bitterly, and she threw him a reproachful look.

"I asked you not to."

"I told you I wouldn't," he retorted.

"I know she's a lot to handle," Charlie started, and he rolled his eyes.

"Why do you even bother? You'll never please her."

"I could say the same thing about Fred," she shot back, but there was no venom in her voice. She was only making an observation. "And I don't, I might add."

He smiled at that, giving her hand a squeeze. "Hey, I wouldn't stop you. I completely agree."

She nodded, squinting in the sunlight. "Has he said anything?"

James shook his head. "Avoids the subject, mostly. Avoids _me, _mostly."

"I wish Anna would do that," Charlie retorted, sticking her tongue out between her teeth.

James snorted. "I think her head would explode."

Charlie wrinkled her nose. "I don't get why he's so upset."

James thought about it for a second, and shrugged. "He's just angry I didn't tell him everything that was going on. And he's just stressed."

"Over?"

"Uh, those exams we have to do?"

Charlie went quiet at that, her brow furrowing, and they were halfway to the paddock when it seemed to hit James that this was one of their last lessons, and they'd be diving headfirst into exams. And he got so little time with her as it was.

"D'you feel like going for a walk?"

Charlie had grown used to this surprisingly quickly, but it didn't stop her eyeing him suspiciously. "Is that really such a great idea?" she said weakly, but when James grinned at her, she seemed to cave.

"This is the last time," she warned.

"Sure, sure."

XXX

Water goblets. Animals. Water goblets. Surely it had been years since they had looked at that. James racked his brain, letting his eyes wander idly around the room as he thought. He definitely didn't remember doing that since at least third year, if not second year. He couldn't remember revising it, or coming across it in any notes.

James sat forward a little in his chair, casting a furtive glance around the room. When it came to school, he was surprisingly honest, and even though he wasn't trying to cheat, he'd still have the private worry that the supervisors would think he was trying to.

His eyes found Fred, who was scribbling furiously, without pause. James frowned. How could he write that much? James didn't remember half of this. Two seats ahead of him was Anna Goldstein, her dirty blonde hair pinned up on top of her head. She seemed to have given up altogether, and was sitting back in her chair with her arms folded, and she was staring mutinously at a spot on the wall.

James saw the supervisor throw her a few quizzical looks, but she was studiously ignoring her entire surroundings. James let out a sigh, looking back at the examination paper. All around him was the scratching of quills or other students letting out tiny whimpers when they came across a question they couldn't answer, or tiny tired sighs when they were exhausting themselves over a question. In fact, from someone in the row beside him, James could hear a stomach grumbling.

Something clicked in his head, and he wrote a few lines - tap it thrice, he remembered that now. More on that. He could go back to that question at the end if he had the time. The next question was on liquids, and after skimming through it, James grinned to himself, confident that he could actually answer that one.

This wasn't so bad, he thought to himself. Why did everyone make such a big deal out of these stupid exams anyway? He remembered his cousin Victoire, and how she'd claimed she was losing clumps of her hair from these exams. But really, they weren't that bad.

Eventually, his eyes found Charlie. She was in an awkward spot, a few rows ahead and a good few seats away from him, so he had to crane his neck to see her. He had been deliberately avoiding looking over, since it was hard enough to focus as it was - the hall was sweltering and they wouldn't open the windows, so they were left battling with the stifling heat, and it was hard to concentrate on anything.

And he reckoned ogling his girlfriend wasn't going to make him concentrate any easier. But once he had a stab at all the questions, confident he had at least scraped an 'E', he risked a glance over.

The thought had crossed him a few times that he'd rather be with her, and fail all his OWLs. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was just wasting time, and he wasn't going to get as much as he would have liked. She refuted this every time he said this, telling him to stop talking such rubbish, that they would have plenty of time after the exams, to which he would sullenly remind her that there were only a few spare days left before the end of term. She'd just laugh and kiss him to cheek, telling him she didn't realize he was capable of worrying.

Then he remembered that his mother would probably skin him alive if he failed his OWLs, deliberately. Once or twice, he considered not showing up, just to see what their reaction would be. But his mother would have his head, and Charlie had literally dragged him to the exam hall, as if to make sure he would actually be there.

She was writing away at a leisurely pace, and James wondered what was going through her head, after all the trouble that the subject had caused her this year. Her expression gave nothing away; in fact, her eyes were focused and she looked quite relaxed.

Like Fred, she wrote without pause, and James grinned to himself. After watching her for a few minutes, he yawned and leaned back, his chair balancing on its back legs. He relaxed until they called for everyone to stop writing. There was a great shuffling of parchment, and plenty people were exchanging worried glances as their papers were being collected, or otherwise letting out great big sighs of relief and clutching their aching wrists.

Once they were dismissed, one or two people burst into tears. James snorted, and when he did he was met with a punch on the arm.

"Don't laugh," Charlie said reproachfully, scowling up at him. "They're upset."

He rolled his eyes, and he could tell she was biting back her smile. Andrew threw him a murderous look as he left the hall, but James just turned his head away.

Most of the exams passed in this way - during their third, there was two breakdowns. In the fourth, there was a fainter, and also someone whose way of vomiting could only be described as completely explosive. The rest were quiet.

He had the feeling that not only Lily, but also Charlie was keeping an eye on him, making sure he ate breakfast, making sure he actually turned up for the exams, drilled it into his head that he wasn't allowed to make jokes on the paper. He liked it - and he was growing to like the look on Andrew's face when, after each exam was complete, Charlie would wander over to him so effortlessly it could have been by accident, to kiss him and make sure the exam had gone okay.

The practical exams went even better than that. There were no more explosions or faints, but there was a lot of trembling and crying, and his most lasting memory in years to come would be how irked he felt as he sat and waited his turn, completely and utterly at ease. Since Charlie was called in with the first lot, James found himself sitting with Max, and Michael and Fred.

It was rather a remarkable moment - maybe it had something to do with the fact that they were related, or maybe they had just missed each other terribly. But as he waited during the first exam, Fred strode over to where Max and James were sitting, and stuck out his hand. James stared for a second, before he took it and shook it gruffly. No words needed saying.

And every exam after that, things seemed no different than how they had ever been. Fred didn't ask about Charlie much, but James was pleasantly surprised to find that he at least acknowledged her existence, and more importantly, her significance.

It was remarkable really. Everything seemed to just fall into place. It was after their Astronomy exam, which took place at midnight, when James and Charlie had decided to go for a little midnight stroll rather than go to bed, that the thought first struck them. Nothing happened that night - except for being greeted by a dozing Andrew Wood once they got back to the common room. But it seemed to hit James how perfect things seemed to have been, how seamlessly everything had worked itself out.

And for a few fleeting seconds, it seemed too good to be true. Too good to last. He remembered wondering how long it would last. Because something this perfect never would.

XXX

"Come on, you're quiet," he prodded.

She raised her eyebrows at him over the top of her book, but her eyes were smiling, crinkling in the corners. "I'm always quiet. I thought we'd already established that you were the talker in this relationship."

He grinned, his heart warming at the word, but he just shrugged nonchalantly and tilted his chair back even further. She didn't need to know how crazy the slightest thing like _that _always drove him. "Well, you're quieter than usual," he amended.

She set the book down on the table. "In case you haven't noticed," she said, putting on the haughtiest voice she could. "I'm trying to study." One exam left, James thought to himself. Just one more, and they were free.

He said nothing; he simply folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to explain. He liked to think that he had made someway - he was no way near to figuring her out, and she still had to tell him what she was thinking before he had an inkling. But at least now he could guess when there was something on her mind, when there was something to tell.

She sighed after a few seconds, but it wasn't a resigned sigh of defeat. It was sort of pensive, and she was surveying him thoughtfully. "You're so different," she said eventually. A passing Hufflepuff threw the pair of them a bemused, quizzical look but kept walking when James glanced at her.

"I am?" he said dubiously, feeling like someone was shining a bright light in his face and waiting for him to crack under the pressure.

She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. "Yeah, you are. I never knew you knew how to be honest."

He felt his cheeks flush, and he eased the chair back onto the ground, staring at her, his brow furrowing. "Haven't we been through all this?"

She shrugged, folding her arms on the table in front of her and leaning forward slightly. She didn't look upset or anything - she just looked very thoughtful, and maybe the slightest bit surprised. James didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to react, or how she wanted him to react, or what she expected. So he said nothing. He managed a small, nervous smile and waited.

"You know, I never get over the way Lily just . . . beams when she sees us," she said, her head tilting to the side. "And you don't pretend. That was the worst of it." She was smiling now. "I saw you with your family. I didn't know you could act like that before then, all kind and good." He opened his mouth to speak at that, but she laughed and he stopped short. "Relax," she assured him. "Your secret's safe with me." He grinned, and she went on.

"I guess I understand though," she said on an exhale. "I was scared too. Not of my reputation, or my friends." James raised his eyebrows. "Okay, I was a little scared of Anna," she admitted. James shifted in his seat, beginning to realize how one-sided this conversation was. For a second he wondered if she'd prepared any of this, but her expression told a different story. Still, she was in full flow and he was in no mood to stop her.

"I was scared of your friends, actually." She sat back again, and James' face flushed again under the intensity of her gaze. What was she looking for? "And so were you. Five years I've been trying to stand up to you lot." She let out a deep, contented sigh and paused. "I think I sort of did that," she said then, laughing softly to herself.

"Something like that," he muttered, utterly lost.

She shook her head, and finally her eyes left his face so she could look down at the table, and James felt himself letting out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding in. "I'm not scared though. Not anymore."

James huffed. "All this time you thought you were the coward. But it was me."

She took a few seconds to respond. "It's natural to be scared of what people think of you. Sometimes it makes you stop being yourself."

"I should have been honest," he insisted, feeling that he should at least contribute something to this conversation.

She looked at him again, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiled again. "Yeah, you should have," she said, grinning at him. "Would have made things easier."

James didn't say anything. She was painfully right. Who was going to stop him actually acting like himself? Who would have told him he wasn't allowed to feel a certain way? Who would have dared, more importantly? He felt more real than he'd done years, and that was down to Charlie. For a few long moments, he imagined that the year had gone normally. He couldn't see how he would have survived it.

She made him feel like that. That he didn't have to pretend. That he knew who he was.

"We got there in the end though," he said, with a small nervous laugh. "Right?"

She nodded. It seemed like eons before she spoke again. "I like honest you. I don't want to lose him."

"Me neither," he admitted. He could have told her that the person who said all of those things was sitting right in front of her, and that he'd meant every word. He could have told her that he'd never been so serious or real about anything. He even could have gone for an old classic, and told her he'd never felt this way. It was the truth, after all.

But looking at her now, he knew he didn't have to. She knew.

"Why are you telling me all this?" he asked, as she picked up her book again and threw him a broad smile, apparently satisfied.

Her grin didn't fade, but her forehead contracted and her eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly. "Just in case I don't get another chance."

XXX

James hadn't understood at the time what had put Charlie in such a mood, but he began to understand after their last exam. He also found that his theory was more or less proving itself - and he felt he was beginning to understand why she'd said all the things she had said while they were studying, or attempting to.

Apart from those mutinous glares he'd been sending their way, James had all but forgotten about Andrew. In truth, when he would look back on it, James would realize that perhaps there was some shred of genuine affection for Charlie - he waited until the last exam, and though it was a small consolation, it made James feel better about where Andrew's heart was.

James was waiting for Charlie just outside the Great Hall, and out of the corner of his eye he could see her, deeply immersed in what looked like a very solemn conversation with a blonde Ravenclaw.

With the Quidditch season over, he didn't have much dealings with Andrew, and he was more than surprised to see Andrew coming to deal with _him. _James had originally planned to simply ignore Andrew, since it had gotten into his head that Andrew really wasn't worth his time. But Andrew had a strategy, and a clever one - he'd rammed into James' shoulder as he made to pass him, and James really couldn't help but scowling.

"Problem, Wood?"

"Tons," retorted Andrew scathingly, facing James like James knew he had planned to.

The cold look, the clenched hands, the hunched shoulders - James wouldn't pretend for a second that he wasn't extremely satisfied to see Andrew that way. And James had always been one to tickle the sleeping dragon - he smirked prominently, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Well, if you don't mind, Wood," he drawled. "I'm just waiting for my girlfriend." The word hit home, and Andrew's face changed, but James pressed it a little further. "You know, Charlie?"

Andrew actually raised his fist at that, but James didn't flinch or step back. He didn't even blinked. He just smirked more and more at Andrew, feeling happier and happier with himself. Andrew seemed to stop himself just in time - since they both knew who would win that fight.

"You think this is going to last?" Andrew seethed.

"Yes," James retorted quickly, nonchalantly.

Andrew looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "She's going to come to her senses eventually, Potter," he spat. "And I hope I'm here to see it."

Over Andrew's shoulder, James noticed that Charlie was now talking with Anna, a pained expression on her face. Anna was stomping her foot tempestuously, and though James didn't catch the words, her voice rose considerably, making Charlie grimace and pull away from the other girl.

James lazily turned his attention back to Andrew, giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "Even if she does," he said, ignoring the blind spots circling before him at the very thought of it. "She's not going to go anywhere near you."

Andrew looked surprised, as if this piece of information was new to him, or even surprisingly. "She never wanted you in the first place," James muttered grudgingly, admittedly toeing the line. He didn't care that any other relationship was none of his business, he didn't care that it was cruel to tell such a harsh truth, he didn't even care about the stricken look on Andrew's face.

What he did care about, however, was the fact that Andrew's wand was in his hand, and James didn't know how long it had been there. _Now _he saw how red in the face Andrew was, how he was snarling. And for the first time in his short life, James Potter was caught off guard. Andrew slashed his wand before James had time to react, even with his Quidditch reflexes. In years to come, that would be the worst part of that memory, the fact that someone had actually bested him, though he never admitted it again.

But for now, he couldn't process that thought, that embarrassment. All he knew was that there was a blinding, searing hot pain across his cheek and his chest, before everything went black.

* * *

TADA!

See, this is why I don't leave things alone for a whole month. This seems out of place and out of sorts and I've literally been working on this chapter for like, a month, so I hope nobody kills me about that little ending. All will be wrapped up with a nice pretty bow in the next one. Never fear.

In case you're wondering... I like parallels. That might come in handy.

Also, if you've got any last minute thoughts to get in, now might be a good time! Any unanswered questions for you, let me know and I'll address them as best I can.

Also, just because I can, I'm going to shamelessly self-plug my other fic, Run and Hide, which is a Draco/Astoria fic. I've been working really hard on it, so ... go read it!

Okay, I'm done. Thanks for reading!


	33. Away, Fly Away

Okay yes, I know everyone's very angry, but what you should really remember is that none of this actually belongs to me, so I'm not responsible. Happy reading!

* * *

**Away, Fly Away**

"Charlie, are you even listening to me?"

Anna snapped her fingers in front of Charlie's face, and Charlie slammed down her fork, turning to her so-called best friend with a glare. "No," she snapped. "Of course I'm not. I'm thinking about my boyfriend, and the fact that they won't even let me in to see him because he's in such bad shape, and that's all my fault. And you're talking about him like he's bloody dead. So excuse me, but I am not listening to a word you said."

Anna's jaw dropped a little bit, and her face flushed an angry red. Briony and Talia slowed their eating, staring at Charlie apprehensively, before throwing each other a furtive glance.

Charlie couldn't bring herself to care. She hadn't done anything except push her food back and forward across her plate; she hadn't eaten a thing in two days, and she could barely sit still. Even now, her leg was bouncing fitfully and she was glancing around the hall, only one thought on her mind.

Anna seemed to read her thoughts. "You know, we're going home in a few days," she pointed out. "So if they don't let you in today, you better not explode or something."

"They will," replied Charlie with conviction. "They have to."

Anna stared at her for a few minutes, and Charlie could feel how her gaze was growing more and more intense, until it forced Charlie to meet her eyes. "You didn't think this was actually going to work," she drawled. "Did you, princess?"

Charlie said nothing, but her lips tightened.

"Well?" Anna pressed. "Did you?"

"What's it got to do with you anyway?" Charlie hissed.

Anna's innocent expression instantly morphed into a sneer. "I was only being concerned. Am I not allowed to care about him?"

Charlie snorted. "Actually, no."

"Well, I do," Anna said haughtily, and Charlie knew the tone to be her mocking one, and she rolled her eyes. Anna pressed on. "You haven't answered my question." Briony and Talia had now dropped all pretense of minding their own business, and were staring at the other two girls, eyes wide.

There had been no tension over the past few days - mostly because Charlie was too jaded to try and argue with Anna - so it made sense that they were alarmed. But Charlie had snapped, at last.

"I wasn't going to," retorted Charlie icily. Anna was frowning now, confused.

"But seriously," she said. "You didn't think this was going to work?" Charlie hated to hear the condescension, the incredulity in her tone.

"Why wouldn't it?" she mumbled, her voice shrinking pathetically.

Anna let out a very uncharacteristic cackle. "Because it's him! Breaking hearts left, right, and centre! How long did you think it was going to last?"

The ghost of a smile flitted across her mouth for a second - she'd had that conversation with James before, in which he had pouted and insisted in a very childish manner that he didn't do it on purpose.

"He doesn't try to," Charlie told her, but Anna just looked at her blankly, slightly amused.

"Charlie," she said softly, and though her face insisted she was being kind, there was a harsh edge to her voice that Charlie didn't like. "To be honest, you're just being stupid. The castle's going to explode if you two don't come to your senses." Charlie blinked. "Surely you weren't taking it seriously?" Anna laughed. "Of course it won't work. Why would it? Besides, look at all the trouble you've caused."

"Tr-trouble?" Charlie repeated, but the colour drained from her face.

"Anna," said Briony forcefully, and Talia threw her a warning look. But Anna was in full swing - it was times like these that convinced Charlie that she meant it.

"Yeah. You said it yourself. He nearly bled to death," Anna pointed out. "You nearly got him killed."

"I didn't do that, I -"

"But it was your fault," Anna said quickly. "If you hadn't been messing things up royally, none of that would have happened." Anna's expression had changed, and now she was speaking with a small frown, almost sympathetically. "I wouldn't worry about it, Charlie. Either one of you will be the death of the other, or -" She caught herself for a few seconds, but Charlie's expression steeled, as if daring her to go on. "Or you'll just break each other's hearts."

She turned back to her food, as Briony let out a scandalized, "Anna!", to which she shrugged. "Get out while you can, Charlie!" she cried dramatically, her echoing laugh hitting the walls.

Charlie couldn't take it a second longer - she shoved herself away from the table and stormed away, biting down on her lip hard, though it didn't prevent her tears from spilling over. Once she was outside the Great Hall, she leaned against the wall, steadying herself with a few deep breaths.

This was the worst feeling in the world, she was sure of it. And the worst part? Anna was right.

He'd been unconscious for days. And it was for her fault. Andrew had been punished - obviously - but he still seemed so pleased with himself, as if he'd accomplished what he'd meant to do. And while Charlie didn't think Andrew would have tried to kill James or anything, maybe that hadn't been the plan.

Maybe the plan had been to throw Charlie off so much that she'd come to her senses and realize what was so inherently wrong with the whole thing. And if that was the case, it had worked. Her gut was wrenched painfully most of the time, and while a lot of it was due to worry, there was a part of her that couldn't shake the feeling of . . . _wrongness. _Had Anna really figured it out before her? Was she really just kidding herself?

XXX

House exams were taking place, which gave the fifth- and seventh-years plenty of time to pack, or to take to themselves. When she had delayed herself as long as possible, Charlie trudged down to the hospital wing by herself, not particularly hopeful or expectant.

She met Albus just outside the doors, and he threw a bright grin that reminded her terribly of his older brother and made her heart ache. "Oh good," he said briskly, sweeping his hand through his hair - just the way his brother did. "He's awake."

Charlie nearly fell over. "He's awake?"

He grinned, nodding. "That's what I just said, isn't it?" he chuckled. "Good as new. Almost."

"Almost?" she said, grinning feebly.

He smiled again, shrugging. "Relax, Charlie, he's fine. Isn't the first time he's ever gotten a scratch, you know?" He laughed, but Charlie couldn't bring herself to join in.

"Well, that wasn't exactly what happened," she muttered sullenly. His grin faltered, and she could see the sort of sympathetic, understanding look in his eyes. What did he understand? Surely he couldn't possibly know what she was thinking. Or maybe everyone else had been able to see it all the time. Maybe the universe really _wasn't _on their side.

It didn't matter what his reasons were, it was almost as if Albus could read her thoughts. He patted her shoulder comfortingly. "It's okay, Charlie."

"It's not really," she retorted.

"It is," he insisted. "He'll get it."

"No he won't," Charlie said bitterly.

"Eventually," Albus amended. "Eventually he'll understand."

She wrinkled her nose, but there was no wavering in the conviction in his expression, so she simply sighed and nodded.

Albus cleared his throat. "You better get going," he said then. "He's been asking for you for about an hour."

"He has?" Charlie stuttered, raising her eyebrows.

"Of course," said Albus coolly. "He's been . . . he's been dying to see you." He smiled weakly - because it was such a bad choice of words, and also because he wouldn't want to see her if he knew. She said nothing, and Albus let out a sigh.

"Go on, go in before he explodes."

"So I can actually see him?" she said, smiling a teary-eyed smile.

"Of course," Albus laughed. "I think he's still threatening to blow up the place if you don't come soon, so . . ." He shrugged, and she nodded.

"Thanks," she said quickly.

"Don't mention it," he nodded, and then he was on his way. Charlie took a few seconds to ready herself, staring at the brass doors to the hospital wing as if opening them would unleash an army of all her worst fears. It wasn't far from the reality, when she thought about it. Eventually, she pushed them open, and her eyes immediately found him on the bed furthest away from the door.

He was staring up at the ceiling, his leg bouncing fitfully - and immediately she could tell he was nearly going out of his head with the boredom. She tiptoed to the end of his bed, and once she dropped into the seat beside the endtable, she cleared her throat to announce her presence.

He sat up a little, and she fell back into the seat, feeling a little lightheaded. How could she even consider this? There was too much holding her here - the way that he was looking at her, and the thought of everything that they'd put the other through. But the last part hit her in more ways than one, and she found herself staring at him blankly, waiting for her mind to arrange her thoughts into coherent sentences, if it ever did.

And why did he have to be so bloody attractive? If he wasn't so perfect, this would have been so much easier.

She let out a deep sigh, and dropped her gaze from him, because she couldn't hold it any longer. She toyed with the loose threads of her jumper and though she delayed it as long as she could, eventually she found herself muttering his name, readying herself.

"Charlie, I know what you're about to say," he cut across her, leaning back on his hands. "I'm gonna ask you not to do it."

That was enough to make her crumble, and she kept her eyes glued to her knees. If she looked up, he'd have anything he wanted.

"If you know what I'm about to do, then you know why I'm about to do it."

She could feel his gaze on her skin as if tiny hot flecks of ash were landing on it, sending shocks and tingles up her arms and down her spine. "Charlie, I don't give a fuck what any of them think."

"It's not about what they think," she said quickly, looking at him pleadingly. "It's not about their approval."

"It's not about them at all!" he retorted furiously, viciously. With one large sweeping motion, he lashed out at the box of Bertie Bott's Beans. They fell to the floor and scattered, and Charlie jumped, biting down on her lip.

"James, please listen," she mumbled, and for a second she broke off at the livid expression on his face. "Look, how many times have we ended up in the hospital wing because of each other?"

"I've always been in the hospital wing this much," he said immediately, like a child pouting when he wasn't given what he wanted.

A small, barely there smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes were sad. "Not because of me you haven't."

"It doesn't matter anyway."

"And how many _more _times, James?" she asked then, turning her attention to the gleaming panels of white tiles on the floor, letting them blind her until there were little colourful shapes burned onto her eyes and she couldn't see anything but them. Her mind was on Andrew, and the spark of rage in his eyes. If James knew that it was Andrew she was worried about, he would have been even more furious.

"How many more arguments with people who are _supposed _to be on our side?"

"How did you -"

She cut across him. "Who else is going to stand in our way?"

"Let them, I don't -"

"I do!" Her voice echoed off the walls of the deserted hospital wing and she was on her feet, but instead of angry, she was getting desperate and panicky, and she was gaping at him with a pleading expression in her eyes, to which he turned away, his chin jutted out dejectedly. She took a deep breath, and her shoulders sagged. "I'm tired, James. I'm tired of the whole bloody castle being against us." It was clear in her voice just how jaded she was; her voice got smaller and smaller as she spoke and she kept looking away from him, willing something else in the room to catch and hold her gaze. She couldn't face the look in his eye, the reflection of complete and utter betrayal.

She let out a sigh. "It's really about everything, James. What are we doing to each other?"

"What are we doing?" he repeated, his voice dangerously blank, matching his expression. Charlie bit her lip - it was like he was looking right through her.

"James, you bled half to death," she said, for some strange reason managing a weak smile. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, and she went on. "None of my friends will talk to me. Your friends hate me, and I don't reckon they're too fond of you either." She looked up at him, and watched him blink for a few seconds. When it seemed like he wasn't going to say anything, she added, "This isn't going to turn out well."

He met her gaze then, and his was rather intense compared to the blank, distant look in his eyes a second before. "This sounds like a breakup."

"You know I don't want to," she mumbled.

"Then don't."

She wrinkled her nose. How was she meant to make him understand that she was going to lose him either way? And this was just either. "I don't want to lose you _completely, _James."

He pushed back his covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, and Charlie looked away pointedly. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what could possibly stop him from wearing a shirt to bed, but she refrained. "So what do you think you're doing right now?"

She shrugged, pressing her feet up against the metal bars at the end of the bed and staring at her own shoelaces. "We're going to end up hating each other, and everybody else. I'm not going to lose you altogether. And it's just not worth it."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flinch, and she realized her mistake. 'It's not worth it' would reach his ears as 'you're not worth it'.

"Right."

Charlie looked up, and was a little taken aback to find that his expression was almost surprised at himself, and after a second, she bit back her smile. James Potter, the ladies' man extraordinaire. And here he was tearing his hair out over a breakup. She swallowed; she wouldn't have believed it if she wasn't seeing it with her own eyes.

Then again, there were a whole ton of things she wouldn't have believed at the start of the year. That hadn't stopped them happening.

"I don't want this to mean you completely disappear from my whole life," she said then, tilting her chair back on its hind legs. She was trying to ease the situation, because she felt like she could have cut the tension in the air with a knife, and there were so many conflicting feelings chasing each other's tails around and around. She wanted nothing more than to sit beside him on the bed and wrap her arms around him, but what good would it do?

Overwhelmingly, she felt oddly calm. She had a small smile on her face from just sitting here, and though there was a sadness there, she couldn't pretend that all her feelings were bitter or sad. She wondered how long that would last though, once she walked away from him.

"If I say no, will you stay?" he asked, looking up at her with a small, wry smile.

She chest loosened a little at that, and she let out an easy, genuine laugh, shaking her head bemusedly at him. She felt for a few seconds like the whole castle was so far away from the pair of them, and for a second her vision went black at the thought of leaving. Didn't it feel like they belonged here, in some secret place?

"Well, we had a good run," she said, letting out a dramatically nostalgic sigh.

He didn't seem to pick out that she was trying to change the heavy intensity in the atmosphere. Everything seemed so final, so tragic. And she couldn't describe how much she didn't want to walk away. But she still tried to lighten the mood. Even as the thought hit her, she frowned to herself. How was she supposed to keep _everybody _happy? Someone was always going to get hurt, or not get exactly what she wanted. And she could try as hard as she liked (and she was trying damn hard), she wouldn't change that.

"No, we didn't," he snapped.

Charlie gazed at him, her eyes narrowed. "I know," she said, slightly coldly. "But I was hoping we could pretend we did."

He looked up at her again, a flush colouring his cheeks, and she smiled softly.

He returned it. "Charlie . . . "

She shook her head as if to say 'say no more' and let her chair fall forward onto all fours with a small thud, and she stood up, straightening her crumpled shirt. "I've got to go," she said, keeping her tone as normal and conversational as she could - which was astonishingly easier than she thought it would be. Maybe they were just meant to say goodbye in the first place.

It was tough just to look at him, and once or twice it occurred to her that he was going to find another girl soon, probably one who didn't turn out to be quiet as problematic as Charlie was. Someone that would make him happy with all these stupid complications.

She shoved the chair unceremoniously back to its original place, and leaned down to kiss him before she left. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and she turned her face away before he could see it.

"Get some sleep," she muttered. He nodded, and she forced herself to smile, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. "I'll see you later," she called over her shoulder, hopefully. She thought she saw him nod, but she could easily have imagined it. Either way, he seemed to have run out of things to say.

XXX

The train ride home seemed to last hours, and at the same time, it seemed to pass her by without Charlie even noticing. Anna probably noticed this when the trolley came to a halt outside their compartment, and Charlie didn't even move or acknowledge its arrival in any way.

She hit Charlie's arm with the back of her hand once she had sat back down, and when Charlie forced herself to look around, she found that Anna was scrutinizing her the way a scientist inspects a germ or something.

"Where's Prince Charming?" she asked, and Charlie had to stop herself from flinching. She put on a soft smile, and told herself it was alright, like she'd been doing for days. So she'd drifted off into her thoughts in the last hour or so, that was allowed. She actually genuinely thought she was doing okay.

"Thinking about some other princess, hopefully," she muttered, because she didn't want to go into details, and that pretty much said it all, while saying as little as possible at the same time.

"What?" Talia nearly fell out of her chair.

Charlie sighed. They knew, but they were still waiting for her to say it to them. Briony was looking at her like she was a grenade about to go off. "We broke up," she told them tonelessly, and as she expected, not the slightest bit of surprise registered across their faces.

Talia, however, had other ideas than to be sympathetic. In fact, she looked a little angry. "Why?" she asked reproachfully.

Charlie shrugged her shoulders and then slumped in the seat. "It just wasn't going to work," she told them. "It was too hard." At that, she risked a little sideways glance at Anna, who casually ignored it.

"What was?" asked Briony.

"Everything," said Charlie, surprised at how readily the answer had escaped her lips. "Dealing with everybody. Clearly the universe didn't agree with us."

Briony and Talia both looked like they had more to say, but neither spoke. They were now both looking at Anna as if waiting for a signal or an order. Charlie turned to look at Anna too, a little confused. After a few seconds, Anna sighed and rolled her eyes, cracking under the pressure of their stares.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Charlie actually managed a weak smile. "You should be," she said, making sure her tone was light. "It's your fault."

Anna looked up, encouraged, and grinned. "Well, I'm not really sorry."

"Well, it's still your fault," Charlie retorted.

"I know. It was del-" She caught herself just in time, but Charlie knew anyway. It was deliberate. That much had always been obvious.

Briony must have sensed danger or something, because after a brief pause, she steered the conversation out of such dangerous waters, into trivial topics, to which Charlie barely contributed.

She couldn't have tell you how much longer they were on the train - when she came back to the real world, she was dragging her trunk behind her on the platform, looking for her sister. Albus Potter, tugging his little sister with him, paused and wished her a great summer, and there was a crinkle in the corner of his eyes that clearly said he knew exactly what had happened.

"Thanks, Albus," she said, forcing herself to smile as convincingly as she could.

James followed a few minutes later, chatting to his cousin Teddy, whose hair was still a shocking vibrant shade of turquoise. He caught her eye, and she managed a nod. After what had to be the longest second of her entire life, he nodded too, and smiled, even winked a little bit. Teddy was eyeing them shrewdly, but then the moment ended, and she pushed on. She found Katie a few seconds later, and when she looked over her shoulder, James had melted into the crowd.

She found herself smiling. Of course, it was a bittersweet smile - she was walking away, and while the logical side of her head told her that 'devastated' was too extreme a word to use, she could think of no other way to describe how she felt. But thinking back on the year she'd had - she'd gained a lot, even if she'd lost him.

And for one more day, she would have given a lot. In fact, she was beginning to think she would have given anything for just one more day. She started to realize, as she allowed Katie to tug her through the crowds until they located their mother, just how hard she'd really fallen for him. And walking away seemed so absurd, so painful. Walking away from the the best and worst thing that had ever happened to her, it seemed to bizarre. And she would never ever tell him just how completely in love with him she was. But at the same time, she was glad she was here. It would have been easy to walk away from him months ago, but she was glad that they had been where they were.

She was glad. And if no pain meant she gave up her whole year with him? She wouldn't have traded that for the whole world.

* * *

I'M DONE.

Okay, I didn't want to say it at the start. But this is the last chapter (of fifth year at least, and going beyond that is still iffy at the moment). So I'd love any thoughts about the whole thing. Tell me what you hated if you want, what you're not happy with, all that. I'm all ears. Thanks for reading!

**VERY IMPORTANT NOTE (SORT OF): **Okay, I've put a lot of thought into it. You guys have been amazing and all that, but as far as continuing this story goes (don't panic!) I need to put it as a separate fic. It will be written differently, not just from two points of view all the time, and might jump around a bit more. It also skips a year, and is just so different to this one, it would feel too weird to just add onto this one. I don't know, blame my brain. So, basically, what I'm saying is, I'm hoping to have a sequel (!), even though I hate that word, up soon enough, depending on when I finish it, just to get me started. You guys have all been amazing, so I'm hoping you'll all follow it again, since the support is always so appreciated. (Yeah, yeah, I don't want to lose followers, don't judge me!). So, keep your eyes open and please review the first chapter at least!

Thanks for all the support, and reviews and stuff, it's been amazing. That's it, thanks for reading!


	34. AN

DON'T EXCITED.

A lot of people PM'd or asked for an update once I had the new story up, so this is just to let you all know that . . . it's done, and I'll delete this in like a week. I had hoped to have it up sooner, but I had a lot of trouble with a title. Like, a lot.

So, if you could all go read it, that would be totally great.

It's called: King and Lionheart.

That's all, folks!


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